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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032323">Six Degrees of Frank</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow'>stoplightglow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bandom, My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Healthy Relationships, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, M/M, Miscommunication, Personal Growth, Pining, Slice of Life, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 14:57:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032323</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoplightglow/pseuds/stoplightglow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way doesn't get out much. He's fine with that, honestly. Mikey says there's more to life than school and watching TV in the basement, but Gerard's comfortable; he'll have fun in college. Until then, he's just going to keep his head down and wait to get the hell out of Belleville.</p><p>Well, that's the plan, at least. Then he meets Frank Iero.</p><p>A love letter to growing up and the people who get us through it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alicia Simmons/Mikey Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Gabe Saporta/Pete Wentz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Six Degrees of Frank</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/cedarbranch/gifts">cedarbranch</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>nat, you're the person who got me through. you've taught me so much about what it means to love people the right way and to be loved the right way. moon craters, always.</p><p>tremendous thanks to nat and saint mercy for beta, cheerleading, the whole nine yards. couldn't have done it without them &lt;3</p><p>translation into русский by scorpions available <a href="https://ficbook.net/readfic/9818496">here!</a></p><p>the process of writing this story was different than i anticipated. i started it during the last semester of my senior year of high school as sort of an ode to the whole shitshow, to try to immortalize what it was like before i grew up too much. but then the pandemic happened and i didn't get to finish my senior year. obviously not the greatest of tragedies, but i had to miss all the ceremonial things i'd waited thirteen years for. i didn't get any real closure. but it was so strange; as i was writing, i was being reminded of all the things i did during high school that actually <i>did</i> matter, like love people and fuck up and survive it all. so yeah, that's what this story came to be about. how we get through.</p><p>i hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gerard takes a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. His car’s heating is so useless that it immediately condenses in the January air, and he watches as it dissipates, knowing he’s just stalling the inevitable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Mikey are pretty similar, at least compared to most brothers, but this — this right here is their one monumental difference. For the entirety of his hellish high school experience, Gerard has never stepped foot on the grounds of a house party. Until, well, tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he texts Mikey, hoping against hope that the idiot has his ringer on for once. Gerard sits and waits in his car, watching strangers’ headlights as they pass where he’s parallel parked against the curb. No answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can literally hear the bass thumping from down the street. Even if Mikey’s ringer is on, there’s no way in hell he’ll hear it. Gerard sighs and dials his number anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It goes straight to voicemail, so Mikey’s phone is either dead or drowned in a solo cup somewhere. Gerard punches the dash and then folds his arms over the top of the steering wheel and presses his forehead against them. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the handle and kicks the car door until it swings open, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Mikey is going to owe him big time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Big time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The bass gets even harder to ignore as Gerard approaches the house, keeping his eyes down. There are people out in the yard, some couples making out against trees and others waving around the glowing cherries of cigarettes in the dark. Gerard pulls his jacket tighter around himself. He doesn’t want to look sketchy, he just wants to be invisible. Good thing that’s sort of his specialty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door is half-open, so Gerard just lets himself in. Inside, it’s so hot and crowded that the transition from outdoors is stifling, and for a second he can almost pretend that's why he can’t breathe right. A jocky dude with a girl clinging to him like a sloth waves at Gerard and Gerard waves back even though he has no idea who the hell the guy is, just knows that he isn’t prepared to get in a fight with a drunk football player over his lack of social skills. Then it dawns on him that if he’s gonna find Mikey, a guy who waves at everyone might actually be helpful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” he yells as loudly as he dares, the music still drowning most of it out. He shoulders his way through the crowd to get closer. Some girl with hair extensions an entire shade off gives him a dirty look as he elbows her, but Gerard ignores her. “You seen a Mikey around here? Mikey Way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh.” Jocky dude’s brain is clearly not firing on all cylinders. “You’re looking for Mike?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey,” Gerard says, trying to keep his voice raised. He’s been in here for like two minutes and he’s already exhausted and anxious all at once. “Tall, blonde, glasses, looks bored all the time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhhh,” the dude says again, eloquently. “Oh, shit, yeah! Mikey! Who the hell doesn’t know Mikey? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Duh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was in the kitchen last time I saw him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Gerard says, relieved to have gotten some information but curious about the whole who-doesn’t-know-Mikey concept. There’s no way his little brother has become cooler than him, right? “And that’s. . .?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jocky dude shoots a finger-gun towards the back-left corner of the house and makes a dumb explosion noise with his mouth. “Right back there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Gerard says, already walking away. The sooner he can get out of here the better. “Oh, uh — thanks,” he adds to the guy as an afterthought over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime!” says the dude with the triumphant enthusiasm of the incredibly wasted. “Come do shots with me later, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Gerard says absently, not loud enough for anyone to hear him. As if that guy is even going to remember who he is in thirty seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen is, thank god, exactly where he’d been told it was. And even better, Mikey’s in there, pouring two different bottles into one cup ungracefully and likely with no real plan in mind. His hair is all fucked up and the tips of his ears are red. The overhead lights catch smudges on his glasses. He looks, in the truest meaning of the word, debauched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sidles over to him and taps his elbow. Mikey looks over and squints, and Gerard wonders for a second if he’s downed anything besides alcohol. He shakes the thought out of his head. They can deal with that when the hangover arrives. “Hey. Let’s go. Your curfew was—” Gerard checks the clock on the stove on the other side of Mikey. 1:38 in the morning. Shit. So much for being the responsible older brother. “Uh, forty minutes ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom’s asleep?” Mikey asks, the answer in the question. Gerard still nods. “Mm, then I don’t have a curfew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard hates his brother sometimes, and he hates that their brains work the same way, especially because Mikey is still dumb enough to act on his impulses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’s making a face, because Mikey’s voice suddenly gets softer and he says, “Okay. Okay. Leaving. Wait. We can leave as soon as I tell Frank thanks for the booze.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard has no clue who the fuck Frank is, just that he’s most likely not as important as Mikey believes he is right now. “You sure? Can’t you just text him in the morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey looks at him like he’s crazy and blinks a few times. “If you don’t thank the booze buyer for buying booze, the booze buyer won’t buy booze the next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sudden appearance of polysyllabic words shocks Gerard enough that he doesn’t stop Mikey as he leaves the kitchen and heads back out into the main party. “Plus, we’re all trashing his house, so. Least I can do,” Mikey says loud enough for Gerard to hear as he trails him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They run into like, five other people that Mikey knows and has to say hi to or fistbump before Mikey points out the fabled Frank, who is sprawled out on the couch in the middle of everything with his head propped up on the armrest and a dark-haired girl in his lap. “Fuckface,” Mikey yells as they get closer, and that must be a familiar nickname to Frank because he wriggles partially upright and cranes his neck around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey fucking Way!” he yells back, grin so wide it’s almost menacing. Then his eyes land on Gerard. “And—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My brother,” Mikey fills in, gesturing to Gerard. He’s actually smiling back at Frank. It’s kind of weird. “Gerard fucking Way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, Gerard! Mikey’s brother! Of course. I’ve heard exactly nothing about you.” Frank twists fully to face them, and the girl that was on his lap has to grab onto the back of the couch to keep from falling. Catching that grin full-on is sort of startling. In a good way. Gerard shakes the thought out of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s mutual,” Gerard says, speaking for the first time. His throat’s a little dry, so he swallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You graduated?” Frank asks, a little hopeful gleam in his eyes. Gerard doesn’t like that one bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Senior at Belleville.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look older,” Frank says, whatever the hell that’s supposed to imply. “I’m a junior at Queen of Peace. You’re still eighteen, though, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shakes his head. “Soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Frank curses. “Well, that’s okay, I already have people to buy me cigarettes.” There’s a pause, during which Gerard must make a face. “No, don’t look at me like that! Here. Don’t worry. I promise I still like you.” He lunges forward with surprising speed for someone clearly toasted, grabbing Gerard’s hand and kissing the back of it almost gentleman-like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard just watches, shocked into inaction, and lets it happen. “What—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a motherfucker,” Mikey mutters, thumping Frank’s head. It doesn’t deter Frank — he actually nuzzles Gerard’s hand a little, only letting go when Gerard finally gets his wits about him and tugs himself out of Frank’s grasp. Frank just smiles, totally unaffected, and Gerard thinks that’s definitely their cue to get the fuck out. He does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> need pretty drunk dudes practicing their moves on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good party. Thanks for buying shit,” Mikey says, almost sincerely. Frank makes a little humming noise and opens his mouth to answer, but Gerard is already tugging on the back of Mikey’s shirt, steering them both towards the front door. He needs to be back in his car, like, yesterday. God. And he still needs to sneak Mikey’s drunk ass back in once they get home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk past some poor girl puking into the bushes as they’re leaving, and Gerard hopes and prays that Mikey doesn’t end up the same way until at least tomorrow morning. He nudges his shoulder to check in and gets a nudge back, so that’s good, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make it home without incident, the radio turned all the way up so Gerard doesn’t have to think. Their mom is still asleep. Mikey doesn’t hurl, and he falls asleep basically as soon as his head hits the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard isn’t so lucky. He stares up at the basement ceiling for a while, turning his pillow until a cold side no longer exists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weekends suck. And the rest is even worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All things considered, Gerard doesn’t really have a purpose in his life for high school anymore. He’s already been accepted to college with enough financial aid to scrape by on, and if he could, he’d pack his shit up and start studying in New York City tomorrow. But that’s not how things work, apparently. They won’t hand him his ticket out of Belleville High until he passes Calculus and Senior English, which would be fine if he was remotely interested in either, but he’s not going to ever have to whip out differential equations in </span>
  <em>
    <span>art school,</span>
  </em>
  <span> for fuck’s sake. And he’s already read </span>
  <em>
    <span>1984</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that leaves him floating through his classes in a sort of aimless way, only ever grounding himself when he’s in the art studio. It’s the only place people notice him, too, which just adds to his belief that he’s a ghost everywhere else. Other kids will walk past and glance over Gerard’s shoulder, commenting on whatever he’s drawing or sometimes just humming, and it’s proof that, at least for an hour and a half each day, he’s tangible. He exists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t stop him from getting out of there and going the fuck home as soon as the bell rings, though. A peppy girl in the hall tells him to come to the game on Friday and he purposefully does not respond. In fact, he silently hopes it gets rained out. That would be appropriate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Come Friday, Mikey is leaning against the wall at the bottom of the basement stairs, doing that thing where he stares down his nose at Gerard until Gerard acknowledges his existence. “Mhm?” Gerard hums, not looking away from the sketchbook in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey doesn’t say anything. Gerard rolls his eyes before looking up and confirming that, yes, his brother is in fact a pretentious asshole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going over to a friend’s place to smoke,” he says flatly, no formalities about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay?” Gerard is sort of wondering why Mikey chose today to start keeping him updated on his whereabouts, but he’ll roll with it. “I’ll leave the door unlocked down here. Don’t drive high.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey rolls his shoulders a little and looks away. “I’m telling you because Frank wants me to bring you with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gerard’s eyebrows knit. “That asshole from the party? You’re going to his place again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Not his place.” Mikey is vague as always. “But he’ll be there, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And he wants me to come? Why? We met </span>
  <em>
    <span>once.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Part of Gerard can’t believe that Frank even remembers the interaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it either, dude, okay?” Mikey shrugs stiffly. “I’m just telling you what he told me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even smoke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets an eyebrow twitch from Mikey. “Uh, yes you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard flaps a hand around. “Okay, I don’t smoke with </span>
  <em>
    <span>strangers.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank isn’t a stranger,” Mikey points out, totally incorrectly. Near-strangers still count and they both know it. “You don’t have to come, Gee, you know that. But Frank asked me to ask you. And if you drive, at least you’ll be sure I get home safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you considered just not doing things that </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> get you home safe?” Gerard sighs. His gut tells him to say no and stay home, but his head reminds him that he’s lonely as fuck and if he can write off going out as being a responsible older brother, maybe he should. But, seriously, “Who’s place is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know them.” Pretentious </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole,</span>
  </em>
  <span> god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey pushes up his glasses with his whole hand and his gaze darts around the room for a second. He’s acting so sketchy that Gerard is half expecting him to reveal that they’re meeting up at, like, a crackhouse or something, but Mikey just says, “Gabe and Pete’s. It’s always Gabe and Pete’s. They’re the only ones who don’t live with their fucking parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you were at Frank’s last weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey groans like Gerard’s questions are physically painful to him. “His parents were out of town for the weekend. That was a party. Different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard doesn’t know why he even bothered. It is slightly reassuring, though, to hear that whatever Mikey’s going to tonight isn’t a party. Or, well, whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>they’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to. Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get my keys,” Gerard says, resigned, because he’ll be damned if he has to drive the whole way without making Mikey do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> To his surprise, he gets no snide response. Mikey just turns around and walks back up the stairs to go grab them. Huh. He must really be trying to impress this Frank kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So remind me how you met these people?” Gerard’s steering with one hand and tapping out Tré Cool’s drum beat on his thigh with the other. Mikey is busy pretending to be too cool for Green Day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ran into Frank at a gig at the Loop,” Mikey answers, only slightly hesitant. “He introduced me to everyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods slowly. So Frank is ubiquitous, then. Maybe that’s how everyone does it. “And he goes to Catholic school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey smiles a tiny bit at that. “Catholic school means he can’t have good taste in music?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that,” Gerard defends. “But, hey, if you were at that show, I really doubt it was good music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey’s jaw tightens for a moment, but then he lets it drop. “It was actually a pretty shitty night. They weren’t a Jersey band.” He squashes any moment of victory Gerard has with, “Still better than staying at the house, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Always with the low blows. Gerard doesn’t dignify it with a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard wasn’t expecting a mansion or anything, but Pete and Gabe’s place is </span>
  <em>
    <span>cramped.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe and Pete introduce themselves via a wink and handshake, respectively, and then offer him the grand tour of the apartment. The grand tour consists of: one sweeping hand gesture that encompasses the couch that’s nudged up against the kitchenette, a TV that teeters precariously on a folding table, and one bed pushed against the wall adjacent to the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cozy,” Gabe says, grinning with all his teeth. It’s a hell of a euphemism, but Gerard is still a high schooler living in his mom’s house, so he can’t say shit about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t sleep in the bed together, by the way,” Pete says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we trade off nights on the couch,” says Gabe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just as gay, guys.” Mikey claims the entirety of said couch by flopping down on it and spreading his lanky limbs everywhere. That leaves Gerard standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, rocking on the balls of his feet and wondering what to do with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s saved from having to open his mouth and ask where to sit, or just giving up on illusions entirely and sitting on the floor, when the door busts open and two loud voices enter the room. Gerard recognizes one of them immediately as Frank. The other belongs to a tall dude with a massive amount of hair. He looks vaguely familiar to Gerard, but he can’t place it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their conversation stops abruptly when Frank gasps and then bellows, “Hey! Where the fuck did this strike come from?” He shoves his finger at what appears to be a mini whiteboard hanging crookedly next to the front door. Gerard hadn’t noticed it before, but now he sees a list of people’s names and some tallies underneath them. Mikey’s name is up there, but there aren’t any tallies beneath it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard has just enough time to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>Strike?</span>
  </em>
  <span> before Gabe is hollering back, “You got pizza sauce all over the couch last week, motherfucker! You thought we weren’t gonna notice because you put a pillow over it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t me!” Frank yells. He’s still waggling his finger at the whiteboard indignantly. “That was totally Ray!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude. Don’t throw me under the bus. Own your strike like a man,” says the other guy, who is apparently Ray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But now I’m up to two,” Frank whines. Gerard, seriously, has no idea what the fuck any of them are talking about. He mostly just wants to go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete must be more observant than his tired eyes make him seem, because he turns to Gerard and offers the beginning of an explanation. “We made up a strike system here to keep shit in order. If you fuck something up, you get a strike. If you help clean something up, a strike goes away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it like, three strikes you’re out?” The whole concept is making Gerard nervous, even though he doesn’t plan on ever coming back here, much less being around often enough to get his name on the board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gabe chimes in. “You either get banished from the apartment for three weeks, or we shoot you with the BB gun. Victim’s choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been trying to get it shortened to two weeks of banishment,” Pete says. He’s moved to sit down on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his head propped up in his hands. “Three weeks is way too long. I’d miss you guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe rolls his eyes. “Softie.” He plops down on top of Mikey’s legs at the end of the couch, so personal space is definitely not a concept in this place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has anyone ever, uh.” Gerard is only asking to get a read on these people, but he still doesn’t really want to know. “Has anyone ever been shot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just me,” Gabe says, nonchalant. He turns about ninety degrees to show Gerard his back and points to the middle of it, indicating where he’d taken the hit. “Hurt like a motherfucker. I fucked the whole place up one weekend while I was wasted, though, so I had it coming. But I wasn’t about to get kicked out of my own apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray sits down on the upper portion of Mikey’s legs — Mikey doesn’t complain, miraculously enough — and points a finger at Gerard, who is still just standing there with his hands in his pockets. “Dude, do I know you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was kinda — gonna ask you the same thing.” Gerard seriously still can’t place it, but he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Do you go to Belleville?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kearny,” Ray says, so mystery not solved. “I’m Ray.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Gerard had already gathered that, he just takes it as a prompt to share his own name. “Gerard. I’m Mikey’s brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey? You have a brother? Since when?” Ray looks down at Mikey’s limp form on the couch. Gerard tries not to be offended that apparently he’s been mentioned to </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since seventeen years ago,” Mikey drawls. “Violá.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank comes into view scooping up a soda can behind the TV on the folding table and adding it to a collection of two other assorted cans he’s got in his arms. “See what I’m doing?” he says to the room at large. “Pete? Gabe? See this? Definitely anti-strike material right here.” He’s in the kitchenette the next moment, dumping the cans into the trash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe puts on a bored expression. “We’ll think about it, Iero.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saporta, come on! I also—” Frank stands in the middle of the room and paws around in his pocket for a moment before procuring a baggie. “Brought weed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe cuts Pete a sideways glance, looking a little impressed. “That’ll do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard still doesn’t know where the fuck to sit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ends up on the bed next to Pete, for better or for worse. Frank is half in his lap, and he’s not really sure how that happened; Gerard is yet to conclude if it’s an effort to conserve space, or if Frank’s just really fucking high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe has the bong and isn’t being very generous with it, holding onto it tightly even after he takes a hit and begins coughing his lungs up. Pete eventually has to wrestle it away from him, hitting it and then elbowing Gerard, asking, “You smoke, man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” They’d cracked open a window earlier, but Gerard still feels overheated and stuffy, none of the breeze outside coming to his aid. “I — no. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? We can change that.” Pete smirks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no peer pressure.” Gerard looks down to see Frank speaking. Both of his eyes are closed, but he’s waving his fist in the general direction of Pete. “Gerard’s a guest. We don’t peer pressure guests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete’s eyebrows knit like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Sorry, dude, I didn’t mean anything by it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s cool.” Gerard means it; he’s just grateful he wasn’t forced to explain himself. “Thanks,” he says more quietly to Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all idiots, don’t mind them.” Frank wriggles a bit in Gerard’s lap and then moves his arm so it’s wrapped around half of Gerard’s waist and back. Gerard stiffens. “Sorry, I can get kinda touchy-feely when I’m stoned,” he says, then follows up immediately with a ridiculous pot giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can see that,” Gerard says, then catches how it sounds. “I mean, it’s fine,” he decides instead, even though he’s not sure it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank opens his eyes, squints, says, “You look funny from this angle. Like I can see all the way up to your brain,” and then closes his eyes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s his deal?” Gerard doesn’t take his eyes off the road as he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” Mikey has his knees pulled up against his chest and his cheek pressed against his kneecap. His eyes are closed, so Gerard can’t get an accurate read on how much he’s sobered up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a minute, the only sounds are their breathing and the tires hitting the asphalt. Gerard isn’t going to clarify when Mikey already knows. He won’t stoop that low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey sighs. “He doesn’t do relationships, man. He likes who he likes when he likes them, and that’s about all you can expect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about that girl from the party?” She’d been on his lap. They must know each other well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What girl from the party? Why do you care?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.” Obviously. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t know who the girl from the party was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not gonna be your fucking boyfriend, Gee. He’s nobody’s boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want a boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Mikey lets out a breath through his nose and moves so his other cheek is against his knee, facing away from Gerard. “Of course you don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard gets a text on Monday while he’s sitting in English pretending to read the article Mrs. Young handed out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>is it true u like the pumpkins?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His first thought is that some asshole’s written his number on the bathroom wall again with a scrawled message about calling for a good time. But if that were the case, then the text should have been much more centered around sucking dick than what bands he likes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who’s this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He sends back, first things first.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>frnk,</span>
  </em>
  <span> comes the reply. A second later, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that a yes?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>How the fuck did Frank get his number? And who told him about the Pumpkins? Mikey, probably. Goddammit. Wait, but even after his nobody’s-boyfriend speech?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone doesn’t buzz with a response immediately like he was expecting. Gerard stares at it and blinks, wondering if he said the wrong thing. Was that some sort of test? He jiggles his leg under his desk, suddenly and unpleasantly nervous, and decides to redirect his energy to the article. His eyes won’t focus. His phone remains still and silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the bell finally rings, Gerard is still in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in art class, focusing solely on sketching and pushing away any intruding thoughts, when the next buzz finally comes. His pencil freezes over the paper. He doesn’t need to look. If he doesn’t check the message, then it can never be bad, or awkward — or worst of all, </span>
  <em>
    <span>charming</span>
  </em>
  <span> — so it’s better if he doesn’t know. It’s not important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pencil hovers for a handful of seconds before he has to put it down and grab his phone out of his pocket. Damn Frank for snapping his concentration. He has more important things to do than fidget because of some guy he barely knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just Mikey telling him he doesn’t need a ride home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sighs. He needs to put his head back on straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to a gig,” Mikey announces a few days later. “Frank wants you there. Be ready to leave in ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gerard is pretty much settled in for the night, papers from English scattered at the end of his bed in the unlikely event that he finds the motivation to complete them and Lord of the Rings playing on his laptop. “It’s Thursday, what the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom’s at Aunt Susan’s tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean that I want to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you have more exciting plans?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard points a lazy finger at his laptop screen. Not more exciting, necessarily, but certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>preferable. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Mikey says, “You can jerk off to Legolas tomorrow night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not—” Gerard decides that bait isn’t worth it. “What is it, some shitty local band?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I mean, yes, but not shitty. Frank says these guys sound just like Smashing Pumpkins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Then his texts from earlier in the week suddenly make a whole lot more sense. Which means — this wasn’t a last minute invite, Frank had been thinking about it, planning on having Gerard there. It was premeditated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they get there, Frank is already up in the bouncer’s face, literally on his tip-toes to reach. Gabe and Ray are standing next to him, hands curled into fists. Gerard can’t tell what’s going on until he and Mikey get up there, and even once they do, it’s still confusing as fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The flyer said all ages!” Frank is yelling. “Ray, show him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the rage seems to deflate from Ray as he cuts Frank a dubious side-eye. “Dude, why would I have the flyer on me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Toro, maybe—!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bouncer cuts off Frank’s sputtering. “We’re eighteen plus tonight. Can’t do anything about it.” With a mocking smile, he adds, “But you’re welcome to wait in the parking lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that,” Frank spits. He stands there gritting his teeth until the bouncer rolls his eyes and moves around them to check someone else’s ID. Only then does Frank turn on his heel and walk away. Even though he knows he shouldn’t be, Gerard is secretly relieved. Now he can just go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do end up waiting in the parking lot, but no one looks happy about it. Frank kicks a piece of gravel around and stares at the ground. Gerard wraps his arms around himself and tries to ignore how cold it is. Their silence is awful, amplified by the contrast of how loud it’s getting in the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m so fucking underage,” Frank finally mutters. He looks up at Gabe. “You can go in without us, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe scoffs. “Are you kidding? You don’t really think I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much of an asshole, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank smiles the tiniest bit and shoulder-checks Gabe. It’s good to see. Gerard hadn’t seen Frank express actual negative emotions before, and it didn’t feel right, like a supernova had suddenly turned into a black hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of assholes, where’s Pete at?” Mikey asks, also looking like a weight has been taken off his shoulders now that Frank is less doom-and-gloom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making a noise in the back of his throat, Gabe rolls his eyes. “Home. He’s got work in the morning, and he said he’s trying to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>responsible</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. When the hell did that happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since Gabe stopped paying rent, I suspect.” Ray cracks a grin and elbows Gabe playfully, but Gabe doesn’t take it that way, smacking his elbow before it can make contact. Pretending to cough, Mikey has the decency to at least cover his laugh, but Frank just giggles obnoxiously. Everyone but Gerard seems to know what’s going on, and he doesn’t like that one bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you lose your job?” It comes out before Gerard has time to consider whether or not he’s actually in any position to ask. He wraps his arms tighter around himself, not just because he’s shivering anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe tilts his chin up to look down at him, and for a second Gerard freezes, honest-to-god terrified that he’s about to get yelled at and embarrassed in front of everyone. But Gabe just says, haughtily, “I started a band.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, even worse, he quit his job,” Frank fills in with a shit-eating grin. The tip of his nose is red and his cheeks are flushed. Gerard has to look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna work out!” That incites another round of laughter, and Gabe huffs. “Fuck off, Iero. You’re just mad because my guitarist is better than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, that’s not fair,” Ray cuts in, suddenly very serious. With wide eyes, Frank looks over at him. Everyone else shuts up. “Everyone’s better than Frank on guitar!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You motherfucker!” Frank lunges for him, grabbing him around the neck and hopping onto his back. Ray starts trying to throw him like a mechanical bull, but Frank clings on, and Gerard can’t help but be a little impressed. Frank is about to go for Ray’s hair, all Geneva Convention rules out the window, when a van pulls into the parking lot and almost hits them all before slamming on its brakes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the fuck out of the way!” a guy leans out the window and shouts. All Gerard can see in the streetlamp light is a blonde, scruffy beard and a pissed-off expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mortified, Gerard steps back automatically and is about to apologize on behalf of all of them when Frank goes, “Hey! You guys are the fucking band!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dude’s eyebrows knit and he frowns, but he no longer looks ready to run them all over, so maybe Frank said the right thing. “You know who we are?” His voice is about two octaves higher than it was before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re here to </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> you!” Frank gestures widely, almost smacking Gabe. “You’re Geoff, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guilty.” The guy — Geoff — actually smiles. “If you’re here to see us, what the fuck are you doing out here blocking our van?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank points in the direction of the bouncer, who is too busy checking IDs to pay them any attention. “They said it’s eighteen plus tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those motherfuckers.” Geoff’s expression hardens again. “They keep doing that to us here. We tell all our younger fans to come out and then they change it on us at the last minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shrugs, looking bummed again. “Sorry we can’t come support you guys tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are any of you eighteen?” Gabe raises his hand and the rest of them shuffle awkwardly. Geoff nods and ducks back into the van momentarily. When his head reappears out the window, he says, “Alright, fuck them. You guys want to be our roadies tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s eyes go so wide Gerard thinks they just might pop out of his skull. He nods frantically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting down the amp in his arms with a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard crouches down and eyes all the wires on the stage before looking over his shoulder to ask Gabe what to do next. He’s in a band, he should know. Gabe’s not right behind him anymore, though; his gaze lands on Frank instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want help?” Frank crouches down next to him, his voice surprisingly soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard feels blood rush to the tips of his ears. “Uh, yeah, if you don’t mind. Sorry, I was gonna ask Gabe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank rolls his eyes, but it comes off more affectionate than mean. “He’s out there talking up whatever member of Thursday he can get his hands on. Or, as he’d call it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>networking.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He throws up air quotes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’ll help him score a gig.” Gerard shrugs, not sure what else to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he wants a gig, he’s going to have to record some music first,” Frank answers with a light laugh. Leaning forward and falling onto his knees, he reaches around Gerard and starts plugging stuff in. Gerard can feel his breath on the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This makes no sense if you’ve never done it before,” Frank says, low enough that Gerard wouldn’t be able to hear if they weren’t so close. “But my grandfather taught me how once his back got bad and he couldn’t do it himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was a musician?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, my dad too.” Gerard isn’t going to risk turning around to look at Frank, but he can hear the smile in his voice. “They’re the reason I care about this shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s heart is beating unreasonably fast. This is a new side of Frank, and he feels like he can’t think about it too hard or he’ll do something stupid. “Why aren’t you in a band, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank finishes with the amp and leans back out of Gerard’s space so Gerard can turn around and look at him. He doesn’t answer the question, just stares, and for a second Gerard wonders if he hadn’t heard him ask. Then, finally, Frank’s mouth quirks to one side and he goes, “I don’t have anything to say yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard blinks. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Frank elaborates, “I’ll write music when I’m interesting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re interesting,” Gerard says completely earnestly before he can think better of it. Heat rushes to his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank glances away. “You’ve known me like, two weeks, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and just tonight you’ve gotten in a fight with a bouncer </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> managed to sneak us into a bar. That’s the coolest thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must not get out much.” Frank smirks at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s heart drops into his stomach. There it is. The moment of realization that everyone has when it becomes clear that Gerard is a fucking loser. “I mean, I’m not like Mikey,” he murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No worries.” Frank seems unfazed by Gerard’s change in mood. “I can help with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard stares at him blankly. Frank nods at him, apparently taking that as tacit agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally come on, the band doesn’t actually sound that much like the Pumpkins, but Gerard’s not going to mention it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands near the back of the room and nods his head in time with the music, waving off Frank the few times he comes over and tries to drag Gerard into the pit with him. Gerard is already pretty out of his comfort zone being here, and he has to draw the line somewhere, okay. Even if the sweat on Frank’s face makes him look like he’s glowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes small talk with Ray in between songs, and it’s simple; Gerard feels loosened up after coming down from the adrenaline earlier, and his shoulders seem to fall easier, his head clearer. Ray is a really cool dude, and it’s nice to get him one-on-one when he’s not being overshadowed by the large presence of Gabe. They have the same taste in comic books, and only slightly different opinions about which Batman collections are essential to the franchise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that’s where we’ve met before,” Gerard muses over microphone feedback. “Lurking around in the same section of the comic book store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Ray opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but he catches sight of something beyond Gerard and smirks instead. “Ah, there it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Craning his neck around, Gerard tries to follow Ray’s gaze, but he doesn’t see anything noteworthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pointing, Ray clarifies, “Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And then Gerard sees it. Frank’s got a giant grin on his face and a girl hanging off of him, and they’re headed for the back door. Gerard blinks, then blinks again, and turns back to Ray with a totally expressionless face. “That was quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray shrugs. “He works fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard has to dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray is talking again, and Gerard focuses on that, doesn’t let himself think about the back door, the alleyway, the brick wall, the cold air, the warm bodies. Doesn’t let himself think about it at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, Gerard is the type of person who does things on the weekend. He falls face-first into it without much conscious thought, honestly. It seems like the door at Pete and Gabe’s place is always open, and Mikey always wants a ride there, and somehow those two things connect at least once a week and then Gerard is sitting on Gabe and Pete’s dirty floor watching Frank’s ass wiggle as he searches for a lighter under the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s gonna be another strike, Iero!” Gabe hollers from the sink, which is totally unnecessary considering the size of the apartment. Frank’s ass stops moving and he bangs his head hard on the underside of the couch when he tries to sit up too fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Motherfucker!” Face flushed, Frank whips his head around to glare at Gabe. “My head’s gonna fucking swell up now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s not.” Gabe waves a hand at him dismissively before turning away to open the fridge. “It’s already huge. It wouldn’t get bigger if I hit it with a fucking anvil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank sighs. “Just throw me a bag of frozen peas or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Find my lighter first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s face scrunches up like he’s about to snarl something that will seriously take their argument to the next level when Mikey gets between them. “I’ll get you some fucking peas, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s expression softens a little and he nods at Mikey almost apologetically. Then his eyes dart over to Gerard, just for a second, like he wants to gauge his reaction. Gerard looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heads up,” Mikey calls, and Gerard looks up just in time to see Frank catch a bag of frozen broccoli. He wants to throw Mikey a thumbs-up or something for being mature and resolving conflict, but his back is turned and he’s talking to Gabe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broccoli,” Frank bitches quietly enough that only Gerard can hear. “No, man, shit. The texture’s gonna be all off.” He places it against the back of his head anyway, slumping so the nook between the arm of the couch and the cushion holds the bag in place while he stretches his legs out across the floor. Gerard sits there with his knees pulled up to his chest. “You want to watch something?” Frank asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Frank says, then just stares at Gerard for a few uncomfortable moments. Gerard stares back dumbly. He’s a little lost thinking about how long Frank’s eyelashes are when Frank finally blinks and goes, “Remote’s behind you, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Gerard feels his face get hot. He turns around quickly to hide it, pushing himself up with one hand to grab the remote off the end of the bed. Frank takes it from him when he offers and starts to channel surf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even think I was the one who lost his lighter,” Frank mutters. “Wentz probably did it, but he thinks he can get away with anything since he pays the rent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard doesn’t say anything. Pete probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> deserve to do whatever he wants, in Gerard’s opinion, since he’s the reason the TV in front of them has cable, and the rest of them are practically squatters. A deep voice says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“—But it’s possible the Egyptians weren’t working alone,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Gerard looks up to see that Frank’s landed on </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ancient Aliens.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s this or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grey’s Anatomy,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frank defends when he notices Gerard looking at him sideways. Shrugging, Gerard concedes, and together they watch Giorgio Tsoukalos discredit an entire ancient civilization. “This would be better if we were high. When I watch shit like this sober, it either convinces me or it doesn’t, and either way I feel crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t have a lighter either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Frank’s mouth presses into a line and he starts to channel surf again. This is exactly what Gerard would be doing at home right now, except now he’s. . .with someone. He tries not to think about that too hard. It makes him feel fragile. Like he could blink and this would all disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden he wants to ask about the girl from the Loop and has to bite his tongue to keep the question to himself. It doesn’t make sense; Frank never brings girls around here. Never talks about them. But Gerard has seen it happen, twice now, and Frank’s nonchalance about it means it’s happened lots of times before that too. He knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> version of Frank isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> version of Frank, the one playing with the hem of his shirt and defrosting a bag of veggies with his head, but they’re the same person, somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you get a strike if you bring a girl over here?” Gerard settles on, the best he can do even though it’s a little misogynistic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and Gerard can’t read his expression at the angle. “You have a girlfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard feels his neck heat up. That is not where this had been going at all. “I — no. Uh, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that surprising?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Yeah, kind of.” Turning to meet Gerard’s gaze, Frank tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “You totally could. I mean, you’re sweet. Chicks dig that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea of coming out to Frank flits across Gerard’s mind for just the briefest moment, and that alone is enough to make his heart stop. He tells his body to stop being so overdramatic. Frank’s not an </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even if he didn’t want to lie on Gerard’s lap anymore after he’s three hits deep and loose-limbed, he wouldn’t ditch him entirely, Gerard’s pretty sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even if he’s not an asshole, he’s still — Gerard can’t sort out the thoughts in his head. Drunk-girl-in-his-lap Frank. Getting-freaky-in-the-back-alley Frank. Who-knows-how-many-girls-in-his-phone Frank. Even if he didn’t judge Gerard for it, Gerard would still feel rejected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks away, too embarrassed to press for an answer to his actual question anymore. “Um. Thanks, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, man.” The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> theme song starts playing as Frank switches to another channel, and Gerard swears it’s mocking him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought we were having a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn of the Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> marathon,” Frank says. He looks pointedly at the black TV screen. Gerard looks over, too, and sees his reflection frown back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were,” Pete says, flicking one of his shoelaces dejectedly. “Yeah, that was the plan </span>
  <em>
    <span>all week.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, uh.” Mikey pushes his glasses up and looks around the apartment at everyone. “What the hell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray owns the box set.” Folding his arms, Gabe glowers. “But he ditched us tonight. For a party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A party?” Mikey echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With the goddamn</span>
  <em>
    <span> Kearny soccer team.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Gabe delivers the news sounds like it should be met with gasps, but everyone just sort of squints at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabe hates any party he’s not invited to,” Pete fills in, looking at Gerard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right.” Gerard nods, even though that seems pretty stupid. He’s still the new guy, technically, so he just has to go with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what? Are we gonna crash it?” One of Mikey’s best, or maybe worst, qualities is how quickly he adapts to things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t actually want to ruin his night, even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> ditch.” Pete sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe nods. “No, he doesn’t deserve that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to ruin it for everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> at that party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank laughs and covers his face with his hand. “Yeah, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smacking his shoulder, Pete goes, “They took Ray from us. Don’t laugh at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They took </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn of the Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> from us,” Gabe adds on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank clears his throat and shakes his head. “Yeah, actually, yeah. You’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does anyone know what time it’s over?” Mikey asks. “Maybe we could guilt him into coming over after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” Frank’s eyes light up, and he holds up a hand. “Wait, I have an idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> crashing it?” Mikey tilts his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no.” Frank smiles with all his teeth like a shark. “Much worse than that. We’re gonna need screwdrivers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone stares at him, and Gerard says, “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll explain on the way. We need to get there like, now, before people start leaving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning around to check the microwave clock, Gerard realizes that it’s already quarter to midnight. Gabe shrugs and gets up, walking over to the junk drawer and rifling through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one fucks with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn of the Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> night,” Mikey says quietly, fist bumping Frank. Gerard darts his gaze around. Is everyone else really just following blindly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe comes back from the junk drawer with four screwdrivers, two regular sized ones and two that look like leftovers from IKEA furniture. He brandishes them like swords.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” says Mikey. “Who’s driving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least they don’t make Gerard drive. But Pete goes about twenty miles per hour over the speed limit, so that’s not great either. Since Gerard ends up squished in the back next to Frank, every time Pete takes a recklessly fast turn, Frank gets slammed up against Gerard, and Gerard gets pleasantly slammed against the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not gonna hurt Ray, right?” Gerard murmurs to Frank. Even though everyone else is cracking jokes and laughing with each other, he doesn’t have to be loud to be heard, since there’s definitely no room for Jesus left between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell no.” Frank’s smile is weirdly shy, like they’re sharing a secret but Gerard just hasn’t clued in on it yet. “If anything, we’re saving him. All these Kearny kids. . .the goddamn soccer team, they just suck, you know? They all get girls and drive nice cars and it’s normally just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but fucking with our zombie marathon? That’s too far, man. That’s too far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You get girls.” Gerard doesn’t really mean to say it. He knows it wasn’t the point. It’s just been in his head lately. A lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Franks scoffs. “Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What d’you mean, fuck off? You do. I’ve seen it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s different. I don’t have like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>moves,</span>
  </em>
  <span> like them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Gerard’s turn to scoff. “For some reason I don’t believe that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Frank’s lips. He’s looking right at Gerard and his eyes are half-lidded. “Okay like, maybe there’s a few things. But I don’t flash my debit card at them or any of that shit. I just, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, actually.” Gerard’s mouth is dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just.” Frank shrugs, and Gerard swears he somehow moves a little closer, swears it. His voice is low and quiet in Gerard’s ear. “Show them I want them. Tell them what I want. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looks down at his thigh and Frank’s hand resting on his own thigh right next to it. He wants Frank to move his hand over so bad. Just a few inches. He forces himself to swallow, hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t really about the girls, though,” Frank says and holds up his screwdriver. Gerard blinks like someone just snapped their fingers in front of his face. “This is about the cars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another blink. “Right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting the rest of the car to quiet down, Frank finally explains his idea to everyone. By the end of it, he, Gabe, and Mikey are all smiling like maniacs — Pete’s facing the road, but Gerard has a suspicion he is too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a little more nerve-wracking for Gerard. He barely has enough time to wonder what the fuck he’s gotten himself into before Pete’s cutting the headlights and saying, “We’re here, motherfuckers. Nobody get arrested, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s almost alarming how easily they fall into a rhythm. Frank unscrews one car’s license plate, Gerard takes it over to Mikey, Mikey screws the license plate onto the car he’s at, and Gerard takes that car’s plate back to Frank. Gabe and Pete are further up in the line doing the same thing. They all work silently, the sounds of screws hitting the asphalt and heavy breathing barely audible over the party’s stereo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’re about halfway through the cars, someone drives by, and they all freeze. But it’s not a cop. It’s just some minivan blasting music so loud that Gerard can hear the bass all the way down the street. The driver doesn’t slow down or seem to notice five figures huddled in the dark. Gerard feels everyone breathe out a collective sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, they get out of there as soon as they fucking can, and Pete doesn’t turn the headlights back on until they’re around the corner. Once the road in front of them is lit up again, Frank lets out a quiet giggle, and it makes Mikey laugh, too. Pete tries to stifle a laugh and accidentally snorts. That gets Gabe going, and Gabe’s laugh is the most obnoxious and contagious thing in the world — within seconds, everyone’s losing it. “Fuck!” Frank hoots. “Fuck, man, what the fuck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe slaps the dashboard, laughing his ass off. “Fuck the Kearny soccer team!” he hollers in Pete’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck the Kearny soccer team!” Pete screams right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey hits Gabe’s headrest in front of him and hollers over and over, “Fuck the Keary soccer team!” until it evolves into a chant, Gabe stomping his feet and Pete pounding the steering wheel. The whole car fills with “FUCK THE KEARNY SOCCER TEAM!” and it bubbles up in Gerard’s chest like a warm, frantic thing. He’s chanting with them, smiling so hard his face hurts. It only dies out when everyone is laughing too hard to get the words out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, I didn’t even see Toro’s car there,” Frank says after a while, sucking in a breath. Gerard can tell without even looking over that he’s glowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t either,” Gabe says, turning around to look at them. “Mikey, did you? Pete?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete shakes his head and Mikey says, “No, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car is silent for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe slowly says, “Fuck, do you think he went home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.” Frank dissolves into giggles again, falling forward with it. “Dude, shit! He wasn’t even fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>there!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was! He was!” Gabe yells over him, but he’s laughing too. “Maybe we just didn’t see his car!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally do see Ray’s car a few minutes later, and it’s in a visitor spot at Gabe and Pete’s apartment. Gabe curses when Mikey points it out. Gerard feels like he’s holding his breath until they walk through the unlocked door and find Ray sitting on the couch watching fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grease.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They all stop dead in their tracks, and Gerard can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frank vibrating beside him as he tries to hold back laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray looks up at them so obliviously. “Hey, where were you guys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe tilts his chin up. “Where were </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray shrugs. “That house party I told you about. It totally sucked, though, so I showed up here like an hour ago. I thought you guys would be doing something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank points a finger at him. “Did you bring </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dawn of the Dead?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray’s eyes go wide. “Oh shit, I totally forgot we were doing that.” He spreads his empty hands. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank and Gabe share a look. Gabe shrugs, and Frank decides, “Yeah, still worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it happened to </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> there,” Gerard distantly registers Annabelle saying. She’s sitting next to him, but only so she can gossip with Lindsey across the table — and Lindsey just sits there because she knows Gerard is the only other scumbag in class who actually takes art seriously. Their end of the table is usually much quieter than this. “They didn’t even notice at first, but there were a few guys who drove in from New York so it was more obvious to them. Yeah, seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s pencil stills. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No fucking way. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His gaze freezes on his paper, because he’s sure his face will give him away if he makes eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those Kearny assholes had it coming.” Lindsey’s actually stopped working to engage with this, which means people must be taking it like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I wish I’d come up with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could do it at the football game this weekend,” Annabelle suggests flippantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If only it wasn’t, I don’t know, a massive crime?” Gerard finally looks up just in time to watch Lindsey roll her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think anyone would actually press charges for that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard tries to lean in and listen without actually like, moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, all those kids’ parents are lawyers,” Lindsey says. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard clears his throat and puts an elbow on the table, hoping to god that it comes off as casual. “Sorry, what are you guys talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey’s eyes flit over to him. The way she looks at him is almost friendly. It’s refreshing, considering the shit he deals with during the rest of the day. “Someone switched a bunch of license plates at a Kearny party last weekend. They’re all super pissed about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn.” Gerard is not a good liar, necessarily, but he’s excellent at keeping secrets. High school survival skills and whatnot. “Do they have any idea who did it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annabelle shakes her head and her blonde hair sways with it. “The cops think it’s just some school rivalry shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they’re not looking into it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like anything was actually stolen. I think it’s fair for them to let it go so they can focus on like. . .actual murders and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, totally.” Gerard is working so hard to keep the relief off his face that he’s worried he might pop a blood vessel. “It’s so crazy that someone did that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just happy they finally got what they deserved.” Lindsey cuts him a crooked smile before turning back to Annabelle. As discreetly as he can, Gerard slips his phone out of his pocket and starts texting under the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone knows,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he sends to Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>yea,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frank shoots back almost immediately. </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is the most xciting thing these catholic mofos have heard all yr</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you playing it cool?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>duh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> comes the reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s fingers hover over his keyboard, unsure which direction to take the conversation, when another text pops up. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>y, u scared?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> types Gerard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cops aren’t investigating. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>aww</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard furrows his eyebrows. How is that a bad thing? Is Frank really that demented?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>was looking 4ward to being bonnie and clyde w u</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>i call clyde</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Motherfucker. Gerard feels his cheeks turn pink and puts a hand on his face to cover the side closest to Lindsey and Annabelle. After a minute of staring at Frank’s message, he finally types, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off. You can’t call Clyde</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>but baby, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Frank answers, and Gerard seriously needs to go outside and get some fresh air, what the hell, </span>
  <em>
    <span>u’d make such a pretty wife</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard glares at his phone’s screen, half expecting another mocking text to pop up at any moment. Nothing happens. Well, two can play that game.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey can I ask a question?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>mhm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Gerard can almost hear the smug sound like Frank is right next to him. The intense look Frank gave him in the backseat of Pete’s car the other night surfaces in Gerard’s mind before he can stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you have to wear uniforms at Catholic school?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply. Gerard seriously doubts that Frank has decided to put his phone away and be a model student, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like little plaid skirts?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzes immediately after that one. </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning to himself, Gerard finally puts his phone away and looks up to see Lindsey raising an eyebrow at him. He shrugs and looks away, but he can’t stop smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All I’m saying is,” Frank starts a couple of weekends later, interrupting his own sentence to blow a cloud, “if anyone here has me beat, it’s not Gabe. It’s Mikey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looks over to catch his brother’s reaction, but Mikey’s absorbed in whoever he’s texting and doesn’t seem to have heard Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m two years older than you, bro. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> years older than Mikey. What the fuck are you talking about?” Reaching over, Gabe steals the bong from him, but Frank doesn’t put up a fight. He’s already contently stoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay.” Frank clicks his fingers at Ray and grins. “Then it’s Toro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Pete says, “I abhor being left out of this conversation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe snorts. Pete scoots so he can kick his kneecap, making Gabe yelp. “Dude, what! Do you seriously think you’re going to convince us that you get laid by saying shit like </span>
  <em>
    <span>abhor?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you two aren’t fucking,” Mikey says without looking up from his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t!” they exclaim at the same time. Even Gerard has to cover up his grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Odds you’ll make out with Pete right now, one through ten,” Frank challenges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray shakes his head at all of them. “No, Gabe, don’t let him make you do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you don’t want to watch some guy-on-guy action? For free?” Gerard knows Gabe’s just joking, but he still has to drop his gaze to the floor. He feels like if anyone looks him in the eyes they’ll see right through him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he wants to be a voyeur in anything involving Pete and Gabe, but — it’s just not as funny to him. “C’mon, Toro. Count us off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray blinks at him, then shrugs, letting Gabe be the master of his own idiotic fate. “Alright. Three, two, one—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One!” Frank yells at the same time Gabe goes, “Four!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat shit, Iero.” Gabe grins like a maniac. “I won odds </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> I have the highest body count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete seems to finally wake up and realize what just happened. His mouth falls slightly agape and his eyebrows furrow. “Wait, what? Four?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on, you can’t just tack that on like it’s a fact,” Frank says to Gabe, ignoring Pete entirely. “Okay, so you’re probably higher than Pete, Mikey, and me, and you’re definitely beating Toro—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Ray grumbles, visibly hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank barrels on regardless. “—But what about Gerard? Gerard hasn’t said anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe scoffs. “Like Gerard fucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know,” Frank says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All eyes turn towards Gerard (except for Mikey, who is somehow still texting), and if Hell is real, Gerard wishes the ground would open up and dump him there instead because the literal flames of Satan would be preferable to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Gerard starts, feeling his neck heat up. “Uh—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving,” Mikey announces suddenly, and Gerard is so full of adrenaline that it nearly makes him jump. More shocking, though, is that Mikey’s looked up from his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray recovers first. “What, man? Did we make you uncomfortable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go,” Mikey repeats, like that clarifies shit. He waves his phone in the air and makes a face like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>These fucking idiots.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohhhh.” Frank smirks. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind of deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ray says again, clearly not getting it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be a cockblock, Toro.” Frank rolls his eyes, and understanding dawns on poor Ray’s face. “Mikey, godspeed. Text me about it later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew, no.” Mikey crinkles his nose. “And by the way, stop texting me about yours. I don’t care and it’s a gross thing to wake up to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wires finally connect in Gerard’s brain, and his head snaps up. “Wait, I’ll drive you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey shakes his head. “She’s gonna pick me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has she left yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey shakes his head again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then yeah, I’m driving. It’s the courteous thing to do, right? Don’t make her drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a snort, Frank says, “Like Mikey needs courtesy,” under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee, I really don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got everything? Let’s go.” Gerard’s already standing up. He’s usually not the pushy one, but he knows these guys pretty well by now, so he knows that they never give up on an invasive question. When fate offers him an out like this, he has to take it, no matter how annoying it makes him seem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard, you coming back?” Frank hollers at him as Gerard all but shoves Mikey out the door. Gerard lets the door swing shut behind him and pretends he didn’t hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he starts the car up, Gerard says, “Thanks, Mikes. I know you weren’t listening back there, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was,” interrupts Mikey. “I can multitask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat passes. Gerard notices his knuckles are white against the wheel and forces himself to loosen his grip, flexing his fingers instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to hide anything, Gee,” Mikey says flatly, staring straight ahead. “They weren’t gonna ask for details. And either way, they wouldn’t care. They’re jackasses, not bigots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard swallows. It’s always a little affronting when Mikey gets genuine. “I just don’t want anything to change, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s gonna change?” Mikey challenges. “Nothing that matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t get it. It always looks easier from the outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then let us inside,” Mikey says with a huff. “Jesus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re silent until they get to the address Mikey gave him. It’s a decent drive, at least twenty-five minutes from Pete and Gabe’s place. Not that Gerard minds the distance right now. “Can I know who this girl is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it goes well. No point in getting invested otherwise.” Mikey shrugs, then pats his back pocket and curses. “Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard stares at him. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left my wallet at the apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why the fuck did you even take it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m wearing really fucking tight jeans!” defends Mikey. “It gets lumpy, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard lets silence fall and doesn’t make the offer; he won’t go back. No way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard,” Mikey starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s in there, man! Like my whole life! And I’m not gonna be back there until next weekend. So if you don’t go get it now, you’re just going to have to drive me back over tomorrow, because you know no one’s gonna come pick me up on a Monday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just have your new girlfriend drop you off there. She can drive, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not very courteous.” Mikey throws his own words back at him. Fucker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I actually give a fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee,” Mikey says seriously. “I really like this girl so far. Please. Just do me one fucking favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me her name,” Gerard bargains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment passes. Mikey’s eyes flick over to the girl’s house right in front of them through the windshield. Then, though it looks like it physically pains him, he says, “Alicia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sighs because he knows he’s lost. He honestly didn’t expect Mikey to give it up. “I’m not driving you home. That’s on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call Mom,” Mikey says, which is probably a lie. But they both know she’d rather find Mikey here than at the apartment, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard drives slow and meanderingly on the way back, exploring a few back roads until the twenty-five minute drive turns into thirty-five minutes and the sun starts to set behind the treeline. It’s all in the hope that when he arrives, the group will be mostly dispersed and he won’t have to actually converse with anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he pulls up, though, he sees Frank on the front steps of the apartment complex, smoking. Frank spots him and waves. Gerard resists the urge to slam his head against his car’s horn. Fucking fantastic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Frank says as he ashes his cigarette off the edge of the steps. Gerard looks him over but doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly in acknowledgment. His eyes are bright while the rest of his face is draped in shadow; it feels like Gerard never sees him in actual daylight. “Gerard. You sort of ran off earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard keeps walking. “Mikey just left his—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wallet?” interrupts Frank, pulling the wallet out from his pocket and holding it between two fingers. “It was under the couch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thanks.” That does seem to be the no-man’s-land of Pete and Gabe’s apartment. Gerard leans forward to pluck the wallet from Frank’s grasp but Frank pulls back and raises his eyebrows. “What?” Gerard says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you leave earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His wallet’s all I came back for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank leans further away. “Just sit with me for a minute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard chooses to betray his morals. Sorry, Mikey. “You can have anything you want out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That startles a laugh out of Frank. “I bet there’s like, a library card and ten bucks in there. And an expired condom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. You could be a rich man, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some brother you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’d do the same to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s probably true.” Frank shrugs and smiles a little. “Seriously, are you gonna sit down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of answering immediately, Gerard turns his keys over in his hand. “I kind of need to get home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not even eight,” Frank says, unconvinced. He tries a new approach, offering his cigarette. “Do you smoke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gerard says. The following moment stretches out long and awkward between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like calling mercy, Gerard takes the cigarette from Frank’s outstretched hand and sits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank watches him as he takes a drag and blows it out without even flinching. “Yeah, you totally do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Gerard passes it back, because he doesn’t need Frank to have even more leverage right now. The truth is that he hasn’t smoked in awhile, but he picked up the habit from his mom before he was even old enough to drive, so it’s second nature by this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank tries to hand it back to him a minute later, but Gerard doesn’t take it, so it just hangs there in the air, burning quietly, as Frank starts to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I lost mine a little over a year ago,” Frank says, looking straight ahead. “I embarrassed myself. Big time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lost what?” says Gerard, trying to track the conversation. He didn’t say the thing about starting to smoke way too young out loud, did he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My virginity,” Frank says flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard decides he does need that smoke after all. He grabs it from Frank’s dangling hand and breathes in deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks over at him. “You gonna ask me what I did?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking, Gerard says, “I don’t want to pry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the point of this.” Frank waves his hand in a circle as if to encompass whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. “To pry. I’m opening the door so you can make me talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck? “I’m not going to make you talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you not want to know? It’s human nature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, obviously.” Fumbling in his pockets, the front ones this time, Frank pulls out his pack and a lighter. He lights up a cigarette before shoving both back into his pants. Gerard realizes that it’s because the cigarette Frank handed him is nearly down to its filter and has to squash the urge to apologize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks right at him as he smokes it down and it’s intense, way too intense for a regular Sunday night when there aren’t even any stars out. “Don’t you ever just, like, want an excuse to tell someone everything about you? Don’t you want them to be curious? About everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to tell me everything about you?” Gerard squints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a hypothetical,” Frank says, looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard, half out of guilt, bites. “Okay. Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank knows </span>
  <em>
    <span>what.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard isn’t going to say it. He puts out his cigarette with the heel of his Converse, and then for good measure, Frank stomps on it with one of his combat boots. He looks up at Gerard and smiles sideways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was like, seventeen. Eighteen. A couple years older than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Gerard can’t help but say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were both pretty drunk,” Frank concedes. “This was before Pete moved out, so we were partying at his parents’ place, and once he saw me staring at her he went over and talked me up. I don’t know what the fuck he said, but it worked, and we went upstairs to one of the bedrooms and she blew me and it was like, the best thing ever. Whatever. Everyone’s first time seems like the best time ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard would beg to differ, but he lets Frank continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afterward, I like — wanted to go down on her, obviously, because I’m a gentleman.” Gerard has to hold back a laugh. “And I was — I was still drunk, okay? Bear that in mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Gerard says when Frank actually pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath. “I — I asked her if, y’know, if I came in her mouth and then we kissed afterward and now this, was I going to get her pregnant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude,” Gerard says, unable to keep the look of disbelief off his face. That must have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>mortifying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know, man, okay! I was drunk!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She realized I was an inexperienced loser and kicked me out.” Frank sighs. “She probably hooked up with someone else that night. I never saw her again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Gerard says, “So, technically you didn’t even really. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It counts.” Frank jabs him with a finger. “It’s embarrassing enough to be a first time, so it is. Besides, the real deal only happened like, a month later. I was sober that time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard is quiet while Frank puts out his cigarette. He doesn’t reach for another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours was really embarrassing too, right? That’s why you left earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard recoils slightly. “Did you just tell me that story to guilt me into talking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Frank says, way too quickly to be believable. Of course. Frank doesn’t actually want to tell him about himself, he just wants to make Gerard spill all his dirty little secrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay if it hasn’t happened, too,” he says quietly. “Like, everyone who hangs out in this apartment is a fucking maniac. Besides Ray, I mean. Just because we make stupid decisions doesn’t mean we’re expecting you to, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not—” Gerard pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. There’s really no way to preserve his dignity here. Weirdly enough, Frank is silent, but he’s still looking at Gerard. His eyes are pleading, and his bottom lip is pushed out slightly. “What is that, sad puppy face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kicked puppy,” says Frank, not letting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sighs loudly. “I’m not a fucking virgin, okay. I’m just. . .gay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gay?” Frank says immediately, his voice way too loud. Gerard smacks him on the arm. “Sorry! Sorry!” he whisper-yells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. But don’t fucking go spreading it, okay?” All of a sudden, Gerard breaks out in goosebumps and his palms turn sweaty, like his body finally just caught up to what he’d admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I mean.” Frank breaks off, gesturing up and down at himself, and Gerard is paralyzed for a second thinking Frank is about to ask him if he thinks he’s hot. Gerard doesn’t even know what he’d respond with. He’d probably just die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m bi!” Frank sputters, and then Gerard really does die, or at least his brain stops for a minute as it tries and fails to process that information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Are you fucking with me?” Because that would </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> not be cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking with you? What?” Frank shakes his head. “No, dude, I’m just bi. Like, bisexual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what—” All of a sudden, Gerard has to fight back a smile. This was not the reaction he was expecting at all. Then it hits him. “Wait, but I’ve only ever seen you with girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank tilts his head. “And that means I can’t be bisexual?”</span>
</p><p><span>“No!” Gerard bites his tongue. Fuck, now </span><em><span>he</span></em><span>’s</span> <span>giving Frank what he was expecting Frank to give him. “I just meant, like, I wouldn’t have guessed. Sorry.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Frank grins devilishly, and Gerard suddenly realizes that Frank was never mad at him in the first place, he was just pulling his leg. Gerard feels his cheeks go hot. It’s like he can never get a step ahead. “I go to a Catholic high school,” Frank says matter-of-factly. “I can’t exactly be public about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard says, “It’s just as bad at Belleville,” and Frank gives him a look that makes him want to take it back immediately. “I mean, I don’t know. I can’t flaunt it either, is all I meant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s quiet for a moment, and then Frank reads his mind. “You want to know if anyone else is, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t help the guilty grin that takes over his face. Frank smiles back at him, teasing. “You trying to get with one of them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Gerard says hurriedly, then registers Frank’s laughing and wants to slap himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I would care anyway, dude, relax. But Toro’s definitely straight. Mikey, that’s more your call than mine, but he’s probably getting freaky with an emo chick right now, so.” Gerard shudders. “And Gabe will fuck anyone with a pulse and a blood alcohol content.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Pete?” Gerard says as nonchalantly as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank smirks. “Pete. . .is an enigma. Like, he wears eyeliner sometimes, but that might just be because he’s sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is a fine line.” One that, admittedly, Gerard has walked before. It wasn’t his worst look, all things considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” Frank drops the wallet on Gerard’s lap, startling him. So much has happened since he sat down, or at least it feels that way. He’d sort of forgotten why he came here in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for being honest with me,” Frank continues before Gerard can say anything. “It’s cool, like, ‘cause we can have each other’s backs now. And you can tell me about the boys you like.” Frank wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying,” drawls Frank, “you could do much worse in the wingman department.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t going to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard twitches, feels his fingers curl and uncurl. “Don’t treat me any different. I’m not any different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax.” Frank smiles languidly. “Just take a good thing when it comes, yeah? Are you staying the night? I’m crashing here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s on some different kind of level here, inviting people to stay over at a place that isn’t even his. And on a Sunday. Like, Gerard isn’t saying his mom is parent of the year, but does Frank have parents at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all?</span>
  </em>
  <span> It seems like he just comes and goes whenever he pleases. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his credit, Frank doesn’t even falter. “Yeah, and?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard, for one, actually needs to pass his classes and graduate. He pockets Mikey’s wallet and stands. “Goodnight, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drive safe,” Frank says. There’s an edge of softness to his voice that makes Gerard look back over his shoulder, just for a second, to see if he imagined it. But Frank’s already turned away to light another cigarette against the wind. Must’ve just been in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe’s band has a gig, and none of them really want to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ask Pete what to expect. Pete shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not like they rehearse here.” He gestures to the tiny apartment; there are only a few open square feet in the whole place, all of which are currently being occupied by their asses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ask Pete if there’s any way they can get out of going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabe made me take the night off work. If I’m going, you are too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they end up at Scrap Iron Records that Saturday, smack dab in the middle of a very mediocre crowd. It’s mostly college kids and the usual sad-looking adults, but there are a handful of teenagers Gerard’s age, too. Scrap Iron, though a cramped and shitty record store backroom, will always have a special place in Gerard’s heart because they do not card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s code for BYOB!” Frank yells, bouncing up to Gerard. “Hey.” He elbows Gerard even though he already has his attention. “Do you think those girls will give me a swig of that for five bucks?” He points to a group of teenage girls passing around a handle of vodka and giggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have five bucks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank pulls out a handful of crumpled ones and brandishes them like a magician. There’s no telling if it’s actually five dollars. Gerard still shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank wastes no time. The girls accept his offer, and he knocks back a shot or two. Gerard has to look away as one of them paws at his arm and speaks close to his ear. She’s pretty, in a sharp kind of way, and Gerard doesn’t need to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jolts in surprise when Frank grabs his arm and pulls him over to them. Frank’s hand slides down to his wrist and squeezes, and it sends electricity up Gerard’s spine. He lets go immediately after; it must have been an accident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard realizes that they’re talking about him. The vodka is suddenly in his hands, and Frank is smirking as one of the girls kisses his cheek. “What?” Gerard manages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink up!” Frank’s crooked smile turns and hits Gerard in full force. Gerard’s instinct is to refuse and hand the bottle back to Frank’s new admirers, but then he looks towards the stage. Gabe’s band is just setting up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s gonna be a long night. If Frank keeps making friends like this, it’s gonna be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> long night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shot burns going down, but he swallows it, grimacing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t walk away after that, of course not. Frank continues talking to the girls, letting them draw him in with their bright smiles and sloppy chatter. Gerard really needs to go find Ray, Mikey, and Pete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude!” Frank grabs him again as he turns to leave. Gerard keeps pulling away until Frank slings his arms around Gerard’s neck and tugs to make him look down at him. It successfully keeps Gerard in place, but they’re like one step away from slow dancing. God. The eye contact is intense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those girls. Not your type. I know that now. Sorry. Got distracted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Distracted?” Gerard focuses on not breathing too hard, because their faces are pretty close together. “From what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s eyes twinkle. “Being your wingman. Duh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, come on, we don’t have anything better to do. What’s your type?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard falters. “I don’t have a type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank raises his eyebrows and stares Gerard down, clearly not buying it. “Everyone has a type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need more alcohol,” Gerard says morosely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can find a cute boy who will share his alcohol with you.” Frank is relentless. “Yeah? Okay. How about that guy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dude Frank points to is tall and burly-looking with greasy hair tucked behind his ears. He’s peering over his can of beer with glassy eyes, looking, thankfully, not at them. He dons a faded Mötley Crüe shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could not be further from what Gerard is looking for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That dude is a hundred percent straight. Are you broken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know that,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frank sneers. After a moment, “He could be down to experiment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, perfect.” Rolling his eyes, Gerard continues, “Then if we slept together, neither of us would be able to get it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank actually looks offended, like Gerard had just turned down his best friend and not some rando from across the room. “What, you don’t find him attractive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not relevant.” But from the look on Frank’s face, the answer is pretty clearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “What’s so bad about him? Help me do process of elimination. You have a type, you just don’t know it yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard is pretty sure he knows it already. He just doesn’t need </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frank </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He looks like he has pretentious opinions about music and could crush me like a bug if I disagreed with them,” Gerard answers honestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, noted. So you need to be the most pretentious one in the relationship.” Frank tries to look serious, but Gerard can see the obnoxious grin peeking through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you never get riled up about that shit.” Gerard has a notion that maybe if he makes this about Frank, he can get out of this doomed bachelor situation and go find the friends less involved in his love life instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t even. What about him?” Well, that didn’t work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy is clean-cut with an open face and an easy button-down dominating most of his thin frame. He’s talking to a taller man and shuffling his feet. Credit where credit is due, this dude at least seems like he could be gay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, “He looks like this is the first time he’s ever gone outside,” Gerard says. “Like, he spent twenty years sitting in a sterile room, wandered out this morning, and ended up here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, you’re harsh.” Frank shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “He’s smaller, though, right? That’s good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard wishes again for a drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, someone who has life experience.” Frank’s eyes scan the room, scary intense like the Terminator. “You into older dudes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ,” Gerard curses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just trying to help!” Frank throws up his hands. “Why don’t you want to find someone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard bites his tongue. He can think of a million reasons, and Frank will sympathize with none of them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m just not that into casual sex,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says in his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not ready to be out yet. I don’t think anyone could actually like me. I don’t know how to have a boyfriend. There’s someone else I can’t get out of my head.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He goes with, “This just doesn’t seem like a good place to find the right guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank groans. “What does that </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re mad because Prince Charming isn’t going to ride up to Scrap Iron on a white horse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prince Charming is also straight,” Gerard feels the need to mention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You—” Feedback cuts through the sticky room, shutting Frank up. Gerard looks up to see Gabe leaning in and tapping the microphone. There’s a bass strapped onto him and three meek looking guys behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, sorry,” Gabe says into the mic as he notices people wincing. It could not be more obvious that this is their first show. “Thanks for coming out, everyone. We’re called Midtown, and I promise we’re not gonna be an opening band for long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sighs. Yeah. Long night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe’s band is under-rehearsed and none of them can seem to agree on the tempo. Half of the crowd goes outside, treating Midtown’s set like a smoke break, but some people stay and nod along to the music. Ray pulls the group of them up to the front and makes them act supportive. When Gabe tries a call-and-response thing, they’re the only ones who chime in. Better than no one at all, Gerard supposes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once their set is over and Gabe finishes helping load equipment into his bandmate’s van, he sulks over to them and sighs loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem. . .disenchanted,” Pete observes helpfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe rubs a hand over his face. “We totally sucked, didn’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got heart,” Ray says quickly before anyone else can answer. Gerard doesn’t think any of them have the right to make fun of Gabe, honestly; sure, the set wasn’t great, but he got up there and </span>
  <em>
    <span>did it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s more than Gerard could ever manage. Gerard can’t even order at restaurants without getting sweaty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, your first show tanked.” Frank hits Gabe on the shoulder, and Gabe looks at him oddly. “Whatever. No one was expecting that much, anyway. Just be better next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like we’re gonna book another gig after this.” Gabe shakes his head dismally. No one really knows what to say to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>bang,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Gerard turns around to see a guy kicking an amp into place. “The next band’s setting up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey looks over his shoulder and turns back to them with his nose scrunched up. “That’s Slam Dunk. They’re like, knockoff Less Than Jake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God bless Mikey’s infinite knowledge of the scene. “Do we want to stay?” Frank asks tentatively. He looks like he’s already got one foot out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe winces. “It’s like, courteous, since they let us open for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all look at each other, no one wanting to be the first to sound like a dick, but definitely no one wanting to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a better idea,” Pete says, holding up a finger. “Why don’t we go get shit-faced?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank god,” Gabe moans. “We have booze in the van.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit around the van with the Midtown guys. Gerard hasn’t actually learned their names yet, but he’s decided he likes them because they laugh loudly and are generous with their beer. They’ve opened up the back so Gabe and his drummer can sit and kick their long legs, and everyone else is scattered around. There’s Smirnoff somewhere, it just hasn’t been handed to Gerard yet. He’s on his third PBR and content enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s got Mikey on his left side and Frank on his right, the three of them leaning against the back tire of the van. Mikey is texting furiously, and Frank is telling Gerard the story of the time he went to a punk show in a Denny’s. Gerard is paying attention, mostly. At least eighty-five percent. He’s just not quite sober enough to keep his mind — and his eyes — from wandering. Frank is so expressive when he talks, his mouth makes a million different shapes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shape Frank’s mouth makes right then is the teasing curve of a smirk. “Are you listening to me at all, dude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard blinks like he’s coming out of a trance, eyes snapping up to meet Frank’s. “Crowdsurfers broke an overhead lamp,” he says quickly, hoping Frank won’t call him out. Guilt twists in his stomach. Fuck, what is Frank going to think of him? He feels a hundred times more predatory now that they’ve come out to each other. Like anything he does could be construed as a come-on instead of just his regular awkwardness. He needs to keep himself on a tighter leash around Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> took a piece of it home,” Frank says proudly. The smirk is still there. Gerard’s gaze meanders down to it without his permission, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to make himself refocus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the bottle of Smirnoff appears as it’s handed to Mikey. There’s also a jug of blueberry lemonade. Mikey puts both containers by his feet so he doesn’t have to stop texting, and that’s all the invitation Gerard needs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a great mix but it’s manageable, the lemonade masking some of the burn. It only takes a second before Gerard starts to feel warmer inside, and yeah, he could use some more of that. Another shot and a gulp of mixer. It makes him cough. Through watery eyes, he sees Frank staring at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Share,” he demands, and Gerard passes the bottle over obligingly. Frank tips it back and gets a mouthful, swallowing without so much as a grimace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should be in a band,” Frank thinks aloud. “Why am I not in a band?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds rhetorical at first, but Frank doesn’t continue. “Because you don’t have anything to write about yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank furrows his eyebrows. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said that. The last time we were at a gig. You don’t remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank turns away to hand off the Smirnoff, then scoots closer to Gerard once he’s free of it. As easy as letting out a breath, he drops his head to rest on Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard goes rigid, but Frank either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. His words are a puff of air against Gerard’s prickling skin. “I don’t know. I say a lot of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t think of a response to that, so he just sits there and hopes Frank can’t feel his heart hammering out of his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I couldn’t find you a guy.” Frank’s voice is drowsy and low. His thoughts keep skipping around like a dusty record. Gerard is just trying to follow along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” he manages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve better than those sleazeballs, anyway,” murmurs Frank. “Just wanted to help, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine,” Gerard says gently. “You did fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank nods against Gerard’s shoulder. He’s leaning against </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gerard,</span>
  </em>
  <span> not one of the pretty girls from earlier, not anyone else. Gerard knows Frank’s just buzzed, maybe drunk, but he allows himself to revel in that for a moment before coming back to reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit there together until all the booze is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard is awoken the next morning by Mikey poking him repeatedly. Groaning, he rolls over and shoves his face in his pillow. He needs at least three more hours before he’s slept off last night. His brain feels too big for his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have coffee,” Mikey tempts. It’s enough to make Gerard turn to the side and crack one eye open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” he rasps. It’s Mikey. There’s always a catch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey won't meet his gaze. “I need your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, that’s intriguing. Mikey would normally rather stick his hand in a blender than admit Gerard knows something he doesn’t. With more than a hint of smugness, Gerard sits up and accepts the mug. “Mhm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to be a dick about it.” Mikey shifts like he might get up and leave, but Gerard nudges him with his foot and he stays put. He can be flighty, but if he’s actually swallowed his pride to come and talk to Gerard, it’s probably important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She—” Mikey clears his throat. “That girl I’ve been hanging out with, she texted me ‘Good morning.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alicia?” Gerard clarifies. Mikey looks at him funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard tries not to smile, because he knows it’ll make Mikey throw his walls back up. But of course he remembers. He’s seen the way Mikey’s been off in dreamland recently; it didn’t take a detective to figure out it wasn’t just a hookup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard takes a sip of his coffee. Mikey didn’t bother putting cream and sugar in it, and that’s alright. Anything to make Gerard feel less like a zombie. “So she’s thinking about you. That’s good, right? What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” Mikey looks at his lap. “Nothing, yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to do this!” It’s a rare burst of emotion. “Fucking — ‘Good morning’ — what’s that? That means it’s not just sex anymore, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods somberly. “Pretty much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey’s whole body wilts like a houseplant. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is everyone around Gerard a noncommittal jerk? Okay, Mikey’s his </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but this isn’t a gene they share. He can still call it like he sees it. “And you don’t like her that much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like her </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much,” Mikey says into his hands. “That’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Wow. What? Gerard tries to wrap his head around that. “That’s — the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee.” Mikey looks at him point-blank. “I am not boyfriend material.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just for a second, Gerard feels a twinge of jealousy that this is even an issue for Mikey, that he has someone who likes him enough to make him scared, but he forces himself to squash the feeling down. It’s true, Mikey isn’t a guy Gerard would want his hypothetical daughter dating. But maybe that’s just because, “You’ve never </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> yourself be someone’s boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never like anyone,” Mikey mutters. “Everyone usually sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think,” Gerard tries hard to keep the patronizing tone out of his voice, “that maybe if you’ve found someone who doesn’t suck, you should give it a shot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I hurt her?” Mikey’s trying to keep his usual neutral expression intact, but Gerard can see through the cracks. The line of his mouth is wobbly and his jaw is tight. Gerard realizes that Mikey is already serious about this girl, already knows what he wants. He’s just looking for someone to tell him that he’s not going to fuck it all up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Text her back,” Gerard says. “It doesn’t have to be rocket science. She just wants to know that you’re thinking about her too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey steals the coffee out of Gerard’s hands and takes a sip, Gerard suspects, in order to cover a slight smile. “Okay,” he says lightly. “I’ll send her a photo of my penis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Gerard yells as Mikey drinks more coffee to hide his laughter. “You’re a jackass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re an idiot,” Mikey retorts, but there’s no real fire behind it. “Uh, thank you, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave the coffee,” Gerard says, and Mikey must really be grateful, because he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s SVA welcome packet arrives in the mail in the middle of the week. It feels foreign in his hands. He sets it on the kitchen table, pattering around for a few minutes before he has the courage to open it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside is basically exactly what he’d been expecting — a congratulations letter, a map of campus, and a little booklet of student organizations he can get involved with come fall. It looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>official.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s the ticket out of Belleville he’s been waiting on for all four hellish years of high school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there’s something heavy in his stomach. Like he’s finally found something worth holding onto and now it’s being torn from him. He tells himself it’s just fake nostalgia mixed with a fear of change. Still, it feels like — a loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves the packet on the table for his mom to find later. At least she’ll be excited about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s one of those Friday nights when everyone texts everyone they know trying to find out if </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going down in Belleville. (Gerard is not a big help in this department.) But if there are any shows, house parties, or ill-fated parking lot hangouts happening, no one’s telling them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It blows. All they can do is smoke up and sit around. This is not how Gerard had hoped to ring in eighteen. It’s what he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>expected,</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure, but he was allowed to hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s already eleven,” Ray says, resigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> eleven.” Gabe does his damn best to spin it, but even his trademark exuberance has fizzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t.” Ray sighs. “What’s even open anymore? Tonight totally busted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-four hour diner, CVS, Blockbuster, wherever Pete works,” Frank lists monotonously. Pete should be home soon, according to Gabe, so that’s probably incorrect. “Oh, Walmart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walmart,” Mikey looks up from his phone long enough to decree. “Let’s go there. You can all buy Gee a birthday present.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard hisses and swats at Mikey. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard doesn’t like having his birthday brought to attention. It’s bad enough that he’s going to have to deal with calls from all of his extended family and play fake-nice while they probe him with questions about a girlfriend he doesn’t have and a business degree he isn’t getting; he doesn’t need his only friends acting weird around him, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Frank goes, “Dude, it’s your </span>
  <em>
    <span>birthday?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Gerard says hastily. “Uh, tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So like, in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>hour.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Frank scoffs, his mouth hanging open a little. “Gee. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gee. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Since when did Frank call him that? He probably just picked it up from Mikey on accident. Still, the familiarity it implies makes Gerard’s skin itchy. “I just — didn’t really think you guys would care?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Frank looks dreadfully offended. “You’re finally old enough to buy me smokes, and you didn’t think we’d want to celebrate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t help the tiny smile that fights its way onto his face. “Oh, so that’s what it’s about? I’m just your cig dealer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, don’t get any ideas like that,” Frank drawls. Smiling like a hyena, he looks like he’s finally getting started after a long night of nothing. “We also keep you around ‘cause you’re such a stud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Gerard’s stomach drop, having Frank joke around like that in front of everyone. Normally it’s just the two of them, and Gerard knows Frank is just making fun of him. He has no fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>clue</span>
  </em>
  <span> what everyone else is going to think. He opens his mouth to save face, but he’s interrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got any birthday sex lined up yet, stud?” The wiggle of Gabe’s eyebrows is more than a little suggestive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey makes guttural noise and shakes his head vehemently. Gerard is too busy staring at Frank and trying to telepathically communicate with him to provide his own reaction. Did Frank fucking tell everyone? Does Gabe know he’s into dudes? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank doesn’t seem to be receiving any of his messages; he’s glaring at Gabe through slitted eyes, his face covered in storm clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strike,” Frank says nastily, getting up and practically stomping over to the whiteboard next to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gabe objects, whirling around. “I didn’t do anything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For making a guest uncomfortable.” Frank seems to be putting a lot of effort into taking the cap off the dry erase marker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard isn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guest </span>
  </em>
  <span>anymore,” Gabe bites back. “He doesn’t fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>live here</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you, but — wait, why isn’t he on the board yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard watches as Frank quickly scrawls “G” next to Mikey’s name before going back to Gabe’s section. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door swings open, almost smacking Frank. “Woah, who’s getting striked?” asks a tired-looking Pete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your boyfriend’s trying to get into Gerard’s pants.” Frank is going over the tally on the board again and again until it’s three times as thick as the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, without me?” Pete says at the same time Gabe grumbles, “We’re not dating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s also Gerard’s birthday,” adds Ray, and while Gerard appreciates his intentions, he can’t help but groan inwardly at the reminder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard!” Pete says, way too enthusiastically. His face lights up the same way Gerard’s mom’s does right before she forces him into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow,” Gerard clarifies helplessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey slides his phone into his pocket and looks up at Pete. “We’re going to Walmart to celebrate.” His deadpan voice is a welcome rock amongst it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” Pete looks down at the keys that are still in his hand and the coat he never got to take off. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe tries to erase his strike mark on their way out, but Frank socks him in the arm hard enough to make him wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walmart is a ghost town. Grey-faced employees stare them down as the automatic doors part in their wake. Gerard tries to send the employees apologetic thoughts on behalf of his friends, but their scowls are unmoving. An exhausted looking lady crosses in front of them. The only thing in her cart is onions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horror movies could start like this. The thought makes Gerard smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-minus twenty-three minutes until Gerard’s birthday,” Gabe says in a bad impression of a drill sergeant after he grabs hold of Ray’s arm and reads the time off his watch. “Let’s go, go, go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard makes a sound like “Wha—” as his friends split up into different aisles, save for Mikey. Gerard turns to him, bewildered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Why?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was the last time you had a fun birthday?” Mikey asks in place of an explanation. The question makes Gerard wonder. His birthday has always been acknowledged, but he hasn’t really had anyone besides Mikey to celebrate with since. . .uh, middle school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” says Mikey. “Besides, we’re all bored as fuck. Just let it happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The instinct to deny all special treatment still whispers in the back of Gerard’s mind, but maybe he can ignore it this one time. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other before deciding, okay, if it’s just because everyone’s bored, what the hell. “If they’re all busy, should we go look at CDs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey nods. “We should definitely go look at CDs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music aisles are vacant. Gerard combs mindlessly through racks of CDs, listening to the crinkle of shrinkwrap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly goes into cardiac arrest when something is delicately placed on his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Accidentally dropping the copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>American Idiot</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d been looking at, Gerard whirls around to see Frank on his tip-toes, hands still in the air. “Uh,” Frank says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard paws at his hair and feels something plastic and spiky. He shakes his head and a pink tiara with the number eighteen plastered across the front of it falls into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I shouldn’t have,” Frank says coyly, and Gerard realizes with horror that the monstrosity is already paid for. “I just knew you’d look so pretty, I couldn’t help myself. Put it back on and give us a spin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am not turning eighteen while wearing a tiara,” Gerard says flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no one else here,” Frank coaxes. “And Mikey and I both think you look very dashing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna get you this,” Mikey says, looking at the price sticker on the Green Day album, apparently not listening to them at all. He starts reading the tracklist, and Gerard can already tell it’s going to be one of those “gifts” that disappears from his room in a month and mysteriously materializes in Mikey’s stereo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank plucks the tiara out of Gerard’s hands and gets up on his toes to put it back on him. Gerard tries to dodge but Frank places a hand on the side of his face, and it’s startling enough to keep him still. It takes all of Gerard's willpower to not react as Frank smooths down his hair around the tiara and then tucks a long strand behind his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no way Frank is still high. But there’s no other explanation for why his hands are lingering in Gerard’s hair. Unless — Gerard’s stomach swoops and he forces himself to stop thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spin?” Frank requests again. Gerard does a half-assed curtsy, and that seems to satisfy him. “It’s almost midnight. We should go find everyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we gotta get out of here before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin, Gee,” Mikey deadpans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They find Pete in the makeup aisle in front of a display of eyeliner pencils. He’s deep in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, I was going to get Onyx, but then I was like, what if he’s a Midnight Blue type of guy? Or Steel Grey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will leave it up to your artistic discretion.” Gerard pats Pete on the shoulder. He’s honestly touched that Pete would put so much thought into it at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any eyeliner that isn’t black is a sham,” says Frank. That decides it for Pete, and they head up to checkout, where Gabe and Ray are already annoying the fuck out of a cashier. Well, mostly Gabe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the finest cake in all of New Jersey,” Gabe decrees as he holds up a plastic box containing a slice of chocolate cake that’s actually the size of about three slices. “Perhaps even the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll be three eighty-seven,” the mousy-haired cashier drones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe forks over the cash. “A small price to pay for perfection!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray gives Gerard a knowing smile and hands him three lottery scratch-offs. “Hopefully at least one of these is a winner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>legal!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Frank is practically bouncing up and down. “If you win a million, you’re gonna share with us, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” Gabe chimes in, “if you win, I want a Jag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way. I’m his brother. I’m getting the Jag,” says Mikey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking around at them, hearing them bicker, it’s more than Gerard ever thought he’d have at eighteen. A wave of happiness hits him so intensely that he can only encapsulate it with, “You guys are fucking ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, if anyone’s getting a Jag, it’s Gee,” says Frank. “He’s the only one cool enough to drive it.” He’s snickering before he even gets the full sentence out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m cool enough!” Gerard protests, which probably doesn’t help his case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete finds plastic forks in his car and they sit on the curb, passing around the cake and eating it bite by bite. To Gabe’s credit, it's genuinely good cake, if maybe not the best in the world. Frank is taking second bites when he thinks no one is looking, but Gerard lets him get away with it. There’s a smear of frosting at the corner of his mouth that Gerard has to force himself to ignore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s midnight,” announces Gabe. His eyes settle above Gerard’s head and he smirks, and Gerard just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> what’s coming next. “Happy birthday, princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone laughs at Gerard, and he doesn’t even care. He just closes his eyes and tries to lock the moment in his memory. Unconventional, temporary, whatever — it’s enough for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank nudges him, and Gerard looks over to see him beaming. “Happy birthday, Gee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of the scratch-offs are winners, and it doesn’t matter one bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all crash at the apartment. Gerard’s never stayed the night before, but the air around him feels lit up and sparking, and the only thing he knows is that he doesn’t want it to stop. Plus, Frank looks so excited when Gerard says he’s staying that he doesn’t let himself second guess it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe and Pete let Gerard have the couch since he’s the birthday boy. It’s actually quite an honor. They make a big fuss about not wanting to sleep in the same bed, how they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> not like that, and they would never do it in any other situation, but Gerard is pretty sure that right before he drifts off, he catches them spooning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up much earlier than he wants to. Squinting, he does a quick scan of the room and notices that Mikey’s gone. He checks his phone. There’s a text from him timestamped at three in the morning: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alicia picked me up. Dont freak out. HBD</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Gerard says under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” whispers Frank, and Gerard nearly jumps out of his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ!” He fights to keep his voice down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning to you too,” Frank grumbles, sitting up so he’s face-to-face with Gerard laying on the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like six in the morning,” Just saying it makes Gerard yawn. “Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, it’s nine.” Oh. Really? Gerard looks towards the kitchen and realizes there’s light coming in. “Second of all, I’m bored.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is that my problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the only other person awake,” Frank explains. “If someone else was up, it’d be their problem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn Gerard’s broken circadian rhythm. “Isn’t your car here?” Frank presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard hesitates. “It depends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where you want to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank hums as he considers. “I don’t know, you ever been to the bridge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard furrows his brows. “The bridge?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s a great spot,” Frank whispers. “It’s not that far from here. Plus, it’s early, so we won’t get caught.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s ears prick. “Caught?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Frank is already getting up. “It’s your birthday, dude. You have permission to live a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need—” Gerard starts, then he realizes it would be smarter to just get off the couch and prove Frank wrong. “Okay. Fine. Just help me find my keys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank grins like that’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They park in a dirt lot next to a stack of logs and a forklift. “This is clearly trespassing,” Gerard says, afraid to turn the engine off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shrugs, unconcerned. “I don’t see a sign.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s hand doesn’t move from the ignition. “There doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a sign.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think there does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you see any cops?” Frank interrupts. He reaches out to rest a hand on Gerard’s forearm. “You trust me, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard honestly isn’t sure that he does. He kills the engine anyway, Frank’s hand slipping off of him. He inhales shakily. Newfound nervousness replaces any remaining edge of sleep he’d been feeling. “Okay. Show me what the big deal is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, Frank shoulders open the door and hops out. Gerard follows, albeit slower, and locks his car twice for good measure. If he gets towed, he swears to god, Frank is paying every last cent of the ticket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk up and around the corner, and a small, intricately built bridge comes into view. It’s different from the huge structures Gerard is used to seeing around Jersey, sure, but he doesn’t really get what’s special about it until Frank points out a barely-visible ladder hanging off the side. “Come on,” he says, and starts descending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looks left and right, half expecting to see a police car waiting there like a lion in the grass, but the bridge is still empty. He looks down to make sure he’s not going to step on Frank’s fingers before he starts to climb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a long way down, thankfully. Underneath the bridge looks sort of how Gerard had expected, leftovers from whatever logging operation had happened here forming beams suspended by the bridge’s metal reinforcements. It’s sturdy enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shame it’s not sunset,” Frank says, ducking so he can waddle under some low metal to the other side. “We should come back another time to see that. It’s worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard tentatively follows Frank. When he sees the view from the other side, his breath catches. “Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” From Frank’s voice, Gerard can tell he’s smiling. In front of them is the clearest water Gerard has ever seen in Jersey, the morning sun glinting off of it beautifully. Trees dot the waterline a little further up. Their branches are gold and twisting in a way that makes Gerard itchy to paint them. Winter is finally starting to break; he's never been so sure of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit down together, their feet dangling above the water. “I’ve never brought anyone here before,” Frank says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you even find it?” Gerard has to ask. Frank swings his foot sideways so it knocks against Gerard’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes when I’m at the apartment and Gabe and Pete are both out, I like to wander. See what’s out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As casually as he can, Gerard says, “Why don’t you just go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks down at the water. “This is usually, uh. During times when I should be in class learning about the Bible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. “You skip a lot, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you went to Catholic school, you would too,” defends Frank. “I am not exactly captain of the football team over there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t even make sense to me,” Gerard blurts out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks at him oddly. “That I don’t. . .play football?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, that came out wrong. “No, I mean.” Gerard shakes his head. “You’re so — confident and cool around us, I can’t imagine a version of you that isn’t. Like, all the shit I daydream about, you actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. If we went to school together, I’d—” Gerard forces his mouth shut so he doesn’t say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’d have the biggest crush on you.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fucking hell. “Uh, I’d be in total awe of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding? Like you’d even notice me.” Frank scoffs. “No, if we went to school together, you’d be the unattainable senior who’s way too cool for any high school bullshit. Like all those dumb parties and the social ladder and shit, you’re too good for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiles self-deprecatingly. “There’s a difference between being too cool for high school parties and never being invited to them. No one knows I exist, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Their loss,” Frank says without hesitation. Gerard looks at him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> looks at him, and there’s not a trace of irony on his face. Huh. Gerard turns back to the water and lets his feet kick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s hand nudges up against Gerard’s where it's resting on the plank. Gerard thinks about reaching his pinky out and slowly bringing their palms together, inch by inch. It’s almost sickening, how much he wants to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I got you such a terrible birthday present,” Frank says unexpectedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shakes his head, wondering where that came from. “What? No, it was funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it wasn’t, like, what you </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted,</span>
  </em>
  <span> was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think I looked cute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You looked very cute.” Frank stares at his feet. “Still, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard wants to fix whatever weird guilt Frank is experiencing, but he isn’t sure how. “I mean, you brought me here. This is pretty sweet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t just bring you here because the view’s nice,” Frank says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard swallows. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought, I don’t know.” Frank cards a hand through his hair. It sticks up a little in the front. “This could totally be the wrong time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong time for what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s eyes are wide, pleading. He’s looking at Gerard like he wants him to read his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard, as much as he wants to, can’t. It’s all he can do to piece together what’s in front of him. Frank’s body is angled towards him, and his lips are slightly parted. Gerard drifts towards him involuntarily. He would normally restrain himself, keep himself in place, but this time, maybe—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank hisses, and Gerard jolts back. He looks down to see a streak of blood on the wood beneath them. Frank is holding his hand palm-up and inspecting a gash that’s spitting out blood at a concerning rate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Gerard curses, totally at a loss for what to do. The blood starts to drip down Frank’s wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Frank says pathetically, like getting mauled by the bridge is somehow his fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have, like — napkins, or something, in the car.” Gerard clumsily gets to his feet, reaching down afterward to help Frank up. Frank looks at the ladder and then back at Gerard, wincing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not how this was supposed to go,” Frank mutters, barely audible. He peels his shirt off with his good hand and wraps it around the cut, and Gerard has to look anywhere other than Frank’s smooth, pale chest. With his shirt-mitt on, Frank climbs back up. Gerard follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank fuck the car is still there. Gerard gets in and starts rooting around in his center console while Frank sits there, breathing hard. Shirtless. Gerard’s life is a cosmic joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except then the cosmos decide to throw him a bone, because he finds actual bandages under a pile of about a billion receipts. And hand sanitizer. At least now Frank won’t die of infection, even if Gerard combusts from humiliation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Gerard says, and Frank unwraps his hand. The bleeding has slowed down a little, but it’s still pretty nasty. “You might hate me for this.” Using a clean edge of Frank's shirt, he dabs some hand sanitizer into the cut. Frank flinches but doesn’t say anything. Gerard gets the bandage on as fast as he can, and Frank props his elbow up on the window frame, holding his hand above his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re silent for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Gerard asks finally. It immediately feels like the stupidest question on earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. I'll be fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Back there, were you trying to. . ." Gerard clears his throat. "Was there something you needed to say?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably get back to the apartment,” Frank says, voice distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s heart sinks down to his feet. Of course Frank wasn’t leading up to anything. Gerard must have read the entire situation wrong. Projected his own wishes onto it like a creep. He doesn’t know why he expected any different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay.” Gerard starts the car and watches the late morning sun reflect off the hood. He tries to keep his mind completely blank, not letting himself take his eyes off the road once. There is no hot, shirtless guy in the seat next to him. Nothing mortifying just happened between them. Nope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pull into Gerard’s usual guest spot outside Gabe and Pete’s, and the car goes from awkward to unbearable in about three seconds. Gerard regrets turning off the engine so quickly, because now there’s no background noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They need to talk about this. There’s no way they can just go back inside avoiding eye contact with each other without raising suspicion from the rest of the group. And Gerard isn’t sure exactly what Frank is thinking at this point, but the way he keeps sneaking glances at Gerard means he knows something’s up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry if I came on too strong or something,” Gerard starts shakily, not really sure where he’s going with it. Belatedly, he realizes that it’s a confession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Gerard.” Frank sighs, but Gerard won’t look over. He doesn't need the distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried to — I don’t know. I didn’t want you to know. I guess it was more obvious than I thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gerard.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Gerard turns to him, an apology on his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can get it out, Frank kisses him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s train of thought shatters into a million pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut.” Frank’s mouth presses against his. “The fuck.” He wraps his hand around the side of Gerard’s neck. “Up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forgetting everything, Gerard leans into Frank, kissing him back. He cups Frank’s face in his hands and Frank scoots as close as he can with the armrest between them. Gerard’s careful, wary of Frank’s injury and the shirtless situation, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t want to touch Frank all over. He hasn’t liked someone this much since — he can’t even remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank pulls away just enough that Gerard’s eyes don’t have to cross to look at him. “Why are you thinking so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you kissing me?” Gerard asks breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I was pretty sure you wanted me to.” Frank rolls his eyes the slightest bit. “And I wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know that!” Gerard flounders. “How was I supposed to know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Frank says with a groan, reeling him back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s sweet with just an edge of filth, tongue and teeth, Gerard nipping Frank’s lower lip and Frank not letting him go until he gets to use the same move on him. It’s a few minutes before they pull apart, breathing hard. They’re still holding each other. Gerard is racking his mind for anything to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His traitorous stomach growls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank laughs. “Yeah, me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those idiots should be awake by now. We can coerce them into making breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Frank smiles at him, slow and golden, and Gerard has to force himself out of the car before he starts fucking kissing him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of grease hits Gerard in the face as soon as he opens the door to the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, they’re alive!” Pete hollers from the couch as they walk in. He’s watching some nature documentary with bees on TV. “And. . .shirtless?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spilled something on it,” Frank says passively. “Can I borrow one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you know where they are.” Pete waves him off, and Frank slips away to rummage in a storage bin next to the bed. Gerard’s eyes linger on Frank a bit as he bends over to look. Straightening, he throws on a worn-out tee with a bat on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Mikey?” Ray asks from beside Pete, his chin propped up on the back of the couch to peer at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he’s been with his girlfriend all morning,” Gerard says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing next to the microwave, Gabe wolf whistles. “Look at that. Mikeyway, settling down. Makes me want to put up a white picket fence and have two and a half kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t get pregnant,” Pete calls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe’s expression sours. “Oh, god. Don’t just give into it like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something sizzles in the kitchen. “Is that. . .” starts Frank, mysterious forces pulling him over to the microwave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Facon? Obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank beams up at Gabe like he’s his savior. “Good. We’re fucking hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I have coffee?” Gerard eyes the pot sitting at the end of the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Mugs are in the cabinet above.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard thanks him and goes to fill one up. He’s in his own head, playing back moments from earlier in no particular order, trying not to smile like a loon, when Ray asks, “So, where were you guys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” Gerard freezes. Is this going to be a public thing? They hadn’t discussed it at all. Gerard doesn’t know if he’s ready to come out to everyone, but he sort of wants — he doesn’t know what he wants. He turns to Frank, but he’s looking the other way, and Gerard can’t see his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee needed cigarettes,” Frank says casually. Oh, okay. “He wanted company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray hums and nods, his ‘fro bouncing, before turning back around on the couch. Gerard’s coffee tastes bitter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night when they’re both back home, Mikey notices that something is up immediately. He corners Gerard in the basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I miss?” It’s more accusation than question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Gerard pointedly buries his nose in his sketchbook. “Are we going to talk about you sneaking out in the middle of the night to see your girlfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not sneaking out if I’m already at Gabe and Pete’s,” Mikey says matter-of-factly. What Gerard notices, mostly, is how Mikey doesn’t deny the label. Must be nice. “Something happened. You’re being weird. Like, weird-weird. Not your normal weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard refuses to look up. He can feel Mikey staring him down, trying to make him spill. Slowly, Gerard fills in some shading on the demon he’s drawing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the top of the stairs, their mom calls down, “Gerard? Your aunt’s on the phone, she’d like to tell you happy birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard throws Mikey a haughty look and silently thanks their mother for her great timing. As he walks up the stairs, he tries to mentally prepare himself for his aunt’s scratchy voice singing to him through the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’s a little spacey during their conversation, acting like his mind is somewhere else, it’s just because he’s tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For someone who seems to want to keep this — whatever their relationship is — a secret, Frank isn’t very subtle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s even more handsy than usual at Pete and Gabe’s apartment, leaning into Gerard’s side and sneaking fingers under the hem of his shirt. Even though the light pressure of Frank’s nails on Gerard’s skin is enough to make his toes curl, he forces himself to pull away. Frank huffs in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe is complaining to Ray and Mikey about not having enough connections in the scene to book Midtown another gig, and Mikey’s going through his phone, volleying names at Gabe to see if he can help. Gerard is trying to engage in the conversation, but it’s really fucking hard to concentrate when Frank slides up close enough that Gerard can feel his breath on his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I left something in Gerard’s car last weekend,” Frank announces to the group. They barely glance over. “Gee, come help me look?” He stands up and extends a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard knows it’s bullshit, but it’s possible it’ll look more suspicious if he refuses. With a sigh, he takes Frank’s hand. Frank hoists him up and Gerard grabs his keys on their way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Gerard can unlock the car, though, Frank’s got him crowded up against the side of it, his hands on Gerard’s hips. No one else is outside, and there’s a maintenance truck next to them blocking the street, but Gerard still fights the urge to squirm. “So this is what we’re doing now? Making out in the parking lot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank kisses the underside of Gerard’s jaw. “Don’t tell me you’re not into it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Gerard’s blood is pounding in his ears is a pretty solid indication that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but, “Shouldn’t we, like, go out on a—” His train of thought dissipates as Frank drags his teeth over his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t help it. He grabs Frank’s face in his hands and kisses him. It’s been a while since he’s gotten any action, okay, and the way Frank is </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him — all heat and want — dissolves his self-control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank makes a noise of approval in his throat and kisses back hard, pressing against Gerard until metal digs into his back. Gerard thinks about pulling away, thinks about all the people who could be looking out their windows, but then Frank sticks his tongue in his mouth and Gerard pretty much has to channel all his energy into not popping a semi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank,” Gerard finally manages, and Frank takes the opportunity to move down to his neck, kissing with the occasional edge of teeth. It makes it a thousand times more difficult to string together a sentence. “Did you actually have a reason for coming out here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank leans back, looking Gerard in the eyes. “You think I’m hot, right?” The answer is so obvious that Gerard almost laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, and I think you’re hot. What’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The simplification makes Gerard falter. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> his problem? He wants Frank, and Frank wants him. Why isn’t that enough? Gerard tries to think, but it's impossible to use logic with Frank pressed against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a few more minutes,” Gerard says, giving up. “Before everyone starts to wonder where we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning, Frank pulls him back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After school on Thursday, Gerard drives slowly by the movie theater to look at the posters of what’s showing. It’s been a pretty terrible month for cinema: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ella Enchanted, Mean Girls, </span>
  </em>
  <span>oh — </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hellboy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe that could work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back home, he types out a text to Frank. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Want to go see a movie tomorrow night?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Frank might interpret that as a group hang. He tries again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Want to go see a movie tomorrow night, just us?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh, that’s bland. Gerard backspaces and starts over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hellboy looks good, we should go see it together.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nope, even worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How the fuck can he pique Frank’s interest? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s go see Hellboy tomorrow night and do hand stuff in the back row.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard stares at the message before deleting it, too. He shouldn’t promise things he can’t deliver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, he shuts his phone off without sending anything and flops onto his back, staring at the basement ceiling. He didn’t really want to see a movie, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next weekend, they all go see some local act Gerard’s never heard of in a shitty club just because it’s all-ages. To some of them, that might be great news, but Gerard is getting pretty sick of shitty clubs. It’s impossible to have a real conversation while a band is blowing out the speakers, and Gerard is never able to keep track of anyone. Frank says something about trying his luck at the bar before bouncing off; Gerard loses sight of him immediately. At the same time, Gabe disappears, probably to go sweet-talk the band into letting Midtown open for them sometime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray and Pete aren’t out tonight, so Mikey dutifully lingers near the back with Gerard. It’s a nice gesture, but he’s so clearly sulking. Gerard gets tired of his miserable face after about five minutes and shoos him away. At least Mikey has the decency to pretend to feel bad before he shoulders his way into the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Gerard is alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard thought he was used to being alone, but it feels different in a crowded room. It’s easier in his basement, where at least no one can witness him being a loser. It feels like there’s a Frank-shaped space hovering next to him. Gerard knows that’s irrational, but he can’t help it — Frank so frustratingly gives him nothing and everything at the same time, the idea of him tails Gerard everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been the same routine the past couple of weeks: every time Gerard is alone with Frank, he tries to strike up a conversation, but his fucking nerves wrap around his throat and keep him silent. Frank always kisses him before he can try again. One thing inevitably leads to another, and they end up spending whatever time they’ve snuck away for themselves making out sloppily and grinding on each other until they get off. Gerard feels like he’s stumbling into Frank’s mouth in the dark because the other option is nothing at all. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The room comes alive with hoots and hollers as the opening band leaves the stage, and Gerard realizes he’d completely zoned out. He’d barely even registered their performance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs a smoke, he decides. Fuck ditching his bad habits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s on his way out when Frank slams up against him all of a sudden, out of nowhere. He’s sweaty, hair stuck to his forehead and cheeks flushed. He looks like Gerard’s wet dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How was the pit?” Gerard hates having to raise his voice to be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would’ve been better with you,” Frank pants, balling up the front of Gerard’s shirt in his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s eyes flick down to Frank’s lips, and Frank notices, smirking. Gerard wants to kiss the cocky look off his face. At the same time, he just wants to talk, wants to find out what Frank’s favorite movie is, what he sings along to in the car, what he does when they’re not together, anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They can’t really do either option inside this club.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you care about this band?” Gerard gestures over Frank’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank goes, “Fuck no,” and drags Gerard outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sort of means to stop near the front door where it would finally be quiet enough to have a conversation, but somehow they end up in the backseat of Gerard’s car. Frank pushes Gerard down and crawls on top of him, rucking up Gerard’s shirt and spreading his hands over his waist. Gerard can hardly breathe, he goes from zero to turned on so fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank starts biting at the flesh on his hip, and Gerard knows he’ll leave bruises. His back arches as Frank runs his tongue over the spot. They haven’t even kissed yet tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Frank finally gets Gerard’s pants open and wraps a hand around him, Gerard sees stars. He’s always on a hair-trigger by the end of the week, when he hasn’t seen Frank in what feels like forever but he’s spent way too much time thinking about him, so it’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before Gerard shudders and comes all over his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard tries to get his motor skills back online in order to reciprocate, but before he can even make his eyes refocus, Frank is thrusting against his thigh and coming in his jeans with a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck yeah,” Frank mumbles, collapsing on top of him. He kisses under Gerard’s ear and rests a hand over Gerard’s heart, stroking gently through his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Gerard — he wants so badly to savor the moment, to put away the blissed-out feeling of Frank on top of him so he can draw on it when he’s inevitably freaking out in a few days. But when he looks down to appreciate the view, he sees dark ink scribbled onto Frank’s hand. It’s a phone number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whose number is that?” Gerard asks, afterglow taking away his tact. He feels Frank exhale against his neck and watches as he flips his hand over to hide the digits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From inside?” Gerard’s comfort drains away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a big deal,” Frank says, voice muffled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard's mouth falls open and a faint, unbelieving noise comes out. What was this, then? If that girl had been as easy as Gerard apparently is, would she be the one in the back of a car with Frank?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard wishes he was someone else. Someone who knows how to deal with this. Someone good enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gently, Frank says, “Hey, relax.” He tucks a piece of Gerard’s hair behind his ear and kisses him. Gerard lies there helplessly as his resistance slips through his fingers like sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank throws another house party, which would be deja-fucking-vu, except this time Gerard is invited. A high school party is about the last place he wants to go, but he knows what kind of message it’ll send if he flakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Mikey show up on Frank’s porch a little after eleven and already, Gerard can hear the music blasting through the closed door. He shifts from one foot to the other, uncomfortable, and not just because he’d decided to wear his tightest jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what,” Gerard says uncertainly. “Do we knock, or?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” With a roll of his eyes, Mikey shoves the door open and walks inside. Alright then. Not wanting to be left alone in the cold, Gerard follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, the house seems to have divided itself by levels of drunkenness. In the living room, people are making out on the couch, so that must be the most wasted section. Anyone brave enough to dance, they’re next. Everyone playing beer pong on the dining room table is still in decent condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They find Frank on the kitchen floor, leaning against the fridge, with his legs wrapped around a keg and a red solo cup in his hand. Gerard decides he deserves his own category.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey looks down at Frank. “The hell are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bartending,” Frank says, giggling. Even slumped on the floor, he looks good, tight shirt and bright eyes lightly ringed in black. Gerard tries not to stare. Frank fills up a cup and thrusts it towards Mikey, who shrugs and takes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s actually not that drunk,” says Ray. He’s leaning against the counter, looking a little glazed-eyed himself. “Just, uh. Crossfaded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you?” Gerard’s wondering if he’s going to need to drive people home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Ray grins. “I’m great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, Gerard should probably take it easy. “I’m gonna go—” He stops mid-sentence as he realizes he has no idea what to do at a party. His eyes dart around, but nothing looks appealing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay,” Frank says, and pats the spot next to him on the floor. His mouth curls up like it was some awesome line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray whistles suddenly. “Mikeyway, that girl is totally making eyes at you.” He points past Gerard and Mikey, wiggling his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a—” Mikey starts glumly, turning around. When he sees the girl, his face lights up, and he whirls back around to Frank. “Dude, Alicia’s here? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Cause I thought you’d be smart enough to bring her yourself,” Frank says reasonably. Mikey frowns a little at that, like he’d never considered the possibility. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard turns around to discreetly look for Alicia. There’s a girl in a denim jacket leaning against the stairs and staring straight at them, so, okay, that must be her. Dark hair, an expression that could kill — yeah, Mikey’s type.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard really would like to meet her eventually, he just feels like any first impression he could make yelling over the music wouldn’t do Mikey any favors. So he turns back around, feeling Mikey watching him out of the corner of his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does she have a friend?” Ray asks, a hopeful lilt in his voice. Mikey smiles the tiniest bit and gestures for Ray to follow him back out into the belly of the party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With them gone, it turns awkward fast. Gerard doesn’t know how to fill the in-between spaces, the times when it’s just him and Frank but they aren’t trying to shove their tongues down each other’s throats yet. He starts by sitting down next to Frank and taking a beer when he offers. Just one. It won’t do anything besides loosen up the bundle of nerves in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, Gerard takes a sip, trying to figure out what comes next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You dressed up.” Frank looks Gerard up and down appreciatively. Gerard wouldn’t call this </span>
  <em>
    <span>dressed up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>all he’d done is put on jeans that make him look like he has an ass and traded out the usual faded hoodie for his leather jacket. Still, the compliment feels good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re wearing makeup.” Somehow, when Frank talks, it sounds like flirting, but when Gerard says it, it just sounds like an observation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Frank pokes a swooping curl of hair out of his face, and Gerard wishes he was the one doing it. Dammit. “You like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods and chugs some beer. It’s gritty and awful, but he finishes it, tossing the cup aside. He looks anywhere but Frank, his eyes landing on the back door. “I think I’m gonna — get some air,” he says, pushing clumsily to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank looks up at him, his eyes smiling. “Yeah. Fuck yeah,” he says with unexpected fervor. He follows Gerard out onto the back porch steps, even though that wasn’t quite what Gerard had intended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s empty outside and so dark there are almost no shadows. It dawns on Gerard why Frank was so enthusiastic about the idea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank throws his head back and drains the rest of his cup, and Gerard stares as his throat works, knowing he shouldn’t find it as attractive as he does. He needs to get a grip. He needs to go back inside, get his shit together, and get his heart rate back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, when Frank puts down his cup and looks at him with half-lidded eyes, Gerard leans in for the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pretty much immediately, Frank swings into Gerard’s lap, kissing him hard and dirty. Gerard occupies his hands in Frank’s hair so he doesn’t do anything premature with them, tugging gently as Frank lets out tiny, breathy noises. When Frank bites Gerard’s lip, Gerard accidentally pulls tight, and Frank’s mouth falls open in a moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stupid hot. Before Gerard’s brain has even fully caught up to what’s happening, he’s half-hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Frank presses closer and rolls his hips Gerard realizes, holy fuck, he is too. Frank takes Gerard’s groan as encouragement to bite at the skin where Gerard’s neck meets his shoulder, and Gerard feels like his entire body is flushing, everywhere Frank’s hands and mouth are touching him erupting red-hot. He can’t catch his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Motherfucker,” Gerard mumbles against Frank’s neck, his hands flexing erratically on Frank’s hips as he keeps rocking down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank kisses him again, moaning into his mouth. “I need—” He abandons the sentence, grabbing the hand Gerard’s snuck under his shirt and placing it over his zipper, where he’s hard and straining against the denim. Gerard sucks in a breath and Frank looks at him with blown-out pupils. His whole face is dark and intense, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Gerard barely hesitates before fumbling with the button and zipper and shoving his hand down the front of Frank’s jeans. Frank doesn’t stop moving in Gerard’s lap, too impatient, but he stills when Gerard gets a hand around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s head falls onto Gerard’s shoulder and he lets out a long groan that feels like electricity down Gerard’s spine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> made Frank sound like that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> did that. No one else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their mouths collide again, messy and uncoordinated, as Gerard tries to remember what he likes for himself and reverse it for Frank. Frank’s hips shove up hard, and Gerard gets in another one, two, three strokes before Frank’s whole body trembles and he comes all over Gerard’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Frank breathes out, and Gerard can barely even look at him, it’s like looking at the sun. He reaches for Gerard and kisses him with enough force that Gerard almost falls over, his hands flailing until he gives up and wipes the mess on his dumb jeans. Wrapping his arms around Frank’s waist and rebalancing them, Gerard kisses back, trying to subtly rub against Frank and deal with the throbbing in his jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My bedroom’s upstairs,” Frank says, a bit belatedly. His lips brush over Gerard’s cheek, and his voice sounds fucked-out. “I want you to fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s such a shock that for a second Gerard feels dizzy. “You want — what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm. Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shakes his head, moving a little against Gerard, and Gerard has to grab his hips and stop him so he can focus. “But I want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” Gerard wants to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his entire body is screaming at him to go upstairs with Frank. But through the haze of hormones, his stomach twists. He turns his head so he can breathe without having to look at Frank’s perfect face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank, what is this? What are we doing? Are we — are we dating?” He can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, if this isn’t real. He can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank leans back a little and waits for Gerard to look at him again. “Gee, what? Why are we talking about this right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you just asked me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” Gerard says, an edge to his voice. “This is moving so fast, and I don’t even know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is. And I can’t — I need to know. Are you fucking other people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t need to have this conversation right now.” Frank touches the hem of Gerard’s shirt but Gerard pulls away, not letting Frank get the best of him like that again. It’s so hard to think around Frank. Gerard has to keep his guard up just to get through a sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>do.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s jaw clenches. “I’m not going to give you a fucking STD, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t even process Frank’s bullheadedness. He feels stupid and used, and he needs to go home. This was just a hookup. This was always just a way for Frank to get his fucking rocks off. He pushes at Frank until he gets off of him and then stands up, seeing the stain on his jeans and feeling disgusted with himself. The look on Frank’s face makes Gerard’s heart twist into a knot, because there isn’t a world where Gerard </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> care about Frank, but he can’t do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank calls his name as he walks back towards the house, but Gerard doesn’t turn around. He knows that if he does, something inside him will break all over again, and he might just fucking stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey’s eyebrows furrow as Gerard pulls him away from Alicia. “I’m leaving,” Gerard shouts over the music. “Are you coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alicia can drive,” Mikey yells back, his eyes asking a million questions. Gerard isn’t in the mood to answer any of them. He looks over Mikey’s shoulder and sees that Alicia isn’t even holding a beer. Good enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods. “Be safe.” Mikey looks at him for a long second before wrapping him into a fierce hug. It’s so unexpected that Gerard’s throat closes up. He blinks rapidly as Mikey lets him go and nods back. Fuck, sometimes Gerard doesn’t feel like the older brother at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes numb on the drive home, staring out of his front windshield blankly. There are so many thoughts in his head that he just has to let them all fly by. If he lets them tangle up with each other and stick, who knows what he’ll do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only once he’s home, secure behind the lock of his bathroom door, that he lets himself cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cruel, how things fall apart so much faster than they come together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s first thought when he wakes up the next morning is to check and see if Frank has texted him, but then memories from the night before hit him like a train and he shoves his phone off the bed before it can even power on. If Frank sent him anything, he doesn’t want to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing Gerard wants to do is face the world, so he buries himself under his Star Wars comforter and stares at the wall. He’s not hungover, but he kind of wishes he was, so at least he’d have an easy explanation for feeling so shitty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey comes down at one point and puts a mug of coffee on Gerard’s desk. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and says, “I told mom you’re sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t do anything but nod. He hopes Mikey knows how grateful he is for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Gerard works up the energy to drag himself over to his desk, the coffee is cold. He grabs a sketchbook and pencils while he’s there, then collapses back into bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easier to draw than think. Gerard sketches zombies climbing up Rapunzel’s tower to maul her, Godzilla smashing Belleville to pieces, a three-headed dog tearing monsters limb from limb. He wants everything to be ugly. Everything to be gruesome. He doesn’t deserve to look at anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets so wrapped up in it that he doesn’t even notice Mikey come back downstairs until he says, “Dude, that’s gory,” right over Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard flinches and looks at him, wondering how long he’s been there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scoot,” Mikey says, lightly pushing Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard moves until there’s room for Mikey to climb into the bed and tuck his bony knees against his chest. They sit there together, backs against the headboard, as Gerard finishes some linework on dog head number three.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about it?” Mikey offers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard doesn’t look up. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Mikey fishes his phone out of his pocket, and Gerard hears the tell-tale sounds of Tetris. It’s nice to have someone next to him who isn’t expecting anything from him. Gerard feels like he’s spent the past few weeks completely alone, letting people down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gerard’s eyes get heavy, he knows Mikey notices, but he makes no move to get up and leave. So Gerard just curls up on his side and drifts off before he can overthink it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey is still there when he wakes up. He’s reading one of the comics from Gerard’s floor — </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Dark Knight Returns.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It makes Gerard think of Ray and he smiles automatically, before reality creeps back in and makes his insides twist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long was I out?” Gerard’s voice comes out scratchy from sleep. Mikey puts down the comic in his lap and looks over at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe an hour,” he says. “It’s almost five now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus.” Gerard puts a hand against his forehead. He hasn’t eaten all day, and he’s starting to feel it. “No wonder I’m dizzy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey pushes a roll of Ritz crackers towards him. Gerard doesn’t even get it, how Mikey always knows what he needs, so often before Gerard knows it himself. Opening the roll, he scarfs down a few crackers, glad for their blandness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes of silence, Gerard starts thinking aloud. “I’m leaving for college in like, four months. What the hell am I doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being a teenager?” Mikey suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t acted like a teenager for the past four years.” Gerard shakes his head at himself. It sounds sad out loud, but it’s not like Mikey doesn’t already know. “My last semester of high school was clearly not the time to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you and Frank have been hooking up,” Mikey says quietly, ripping the bandage off. Startled, Gerard looks over at him, but Mikey doesn’t apologize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? And?” Gerard can’t stop himself from being defensive. Sure, Mikey didn’t pass judgment, but hearing it spoken so plainly is jarring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m sorry it didn’t end well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Now Gerard feels like a dick. He nudges Mikey’s shoulder, and thankfully Mikey nudges him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was my fault.” Gerard sighs. “I rushed him into labels. I don’t have a fucking casual bone in my body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you guys ever say it was casual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shrugs. “We never said it wasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should’ve had that talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did,” Gerard says humorlessly. “And that’s why I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I kept, like, holding on, thinking that things would get better, even though they never did. And then because I’d put so much effort in, I didn’t want to let it go and make it look like I’d fucked myself up for nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking, everything reminds me of him. It’s like—” Gerard can’t finish the sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obsession,” Mikey fills in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard closes his eyes. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gee.” Mikey’s voice is gentle. “Does this hurt so much because it was Frank? Or because you were so lonely?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air around them seems to thin as the question settles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both,” Gerard barely gets out. “I wanted to be with Frank just as much as — as I wanted to not be with myself. I needed—” His voice gives out and he has to try again. “I needed someone to love me the right way so I could fix myself, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how it works,” Mikey says. “You know it’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know.” Gerard wipes his nose on his sleeve. It’s gross, but whatever. “It’s just, when you’re alone, it’s so much harder. To get better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it look like you’re alone?” The comic falls off Mikey’s lap as he stretches out his legs on the bed. “Because you’re not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t have to be,” says Mikey. “I’m not saying you need to wake up and be a ray of fucking sunshine tomorrow, but try to get out of bed, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s reasonable. Gerard nods. Tired of stewing in his own misery, he brings up a different topic. “How’d it go with Alicia last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey’s expression softens. “She’s great, Gee. I want to bring her home for dinner sometime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Gerard can’t help the surprise in his voice, but Mikey doesn’t falter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Gerard says, and he means it. “I want to meet her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll like her,” Mikey says, and Gerard already knows he’s right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank god Mikey’s happy. One of them has to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, Gerard wishes he was just as invisible in art class as he is everywhere else. He barely does anything the whole class period. If he were to draw the things in his mind, he’d probably get reported to a counselor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a result, he sits there poking his paper with his pencil, waiting for the bell to ring so he can go home and hole up in the basement. There’s nothing better to do. He doesn’t have friends to get him out of the house anymore, because hanging out with them would inevitably mean seeing Frank. Besides, they all knew Frank first. They were loyal to Frank first. Even if they could hang out without him, it’s not like they could just go out and do the usual; all the places they’ve gone, the things they’ve done, the bands they’ve seen, they all trace back to Frank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard accidentally let his entire life become six degrees of Frank, and without him, it’s like there’s nothing left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under the table, Lindsey nudges Gerard’s foot. He blinks and looks up to see her frowning. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods jerkily. “Yeah, I’m good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Lindsey tilts her head. “Because I can feel you sulking from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard flushes. Had he really been sulking? Maybe a little. Well, now he has to explain, or he’s going to seem like a loser who sulks for no reason. “I had a falling out with a friend,” he says vaguely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, man, I’m sorry.” And it’s crazy, because Lindsey actually sounds like she means it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Gerard lies. “It just turns out — I thought I was losing one person? And that was awful enough. But sometimes losing someone actually means losing a lot of people.” There’s a lump of emotion in his throat, and he has to cough to clear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that.” Lindsey rolls a pen between her fingers; Gerard watches so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “My ex-girlfriend and I shared a friend group. When we broke up, it was like all our friends became children of divorce. They didn’t know who to side with. We worked it out, but it was messy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A detail from the story echoes in Gerard’s head. He knows it wasn’t the point, but, “Wait, you like girls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey lifts an eyebrow and huffs out a little laugh. “You didn’t know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the back of Gerard’s mind, he’d always sort of wondered if Lindsey had a thing for him; it’s not like she ever flirted, but she sat near him and was kind to him, which was enough of an anomaly to make him wonder. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> This makes much more sense. “Uh, no. I didn’t know.” He hesitates, then he realizes that if he’s ever going to get used to coming out, this is about the easiest practice round he could get. “I’m also gay. Just, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shrug, Lindsey says, “Yeah, I figured,” and Gerard doesn’t know why that makes him smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that friend I was talking about—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t just a friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey clicks her tongue. “That’s tough. It’s like two heartbreaks at once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone says not to get with friends, and I always thought it was an overreaction, but.” Gerard sighs. “Turns out it really sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resting her chin in her hand, Lindsey just looks at him for a moment. “That’s straight people bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard blinks. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. My current girlfriend and I, we were friends before we got together."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you made it work?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course." Lindsey nods. "It’s not about not sharing parts of your life, it’d be pointless if you didn’t. It’s about, like, having your own life that you can share. My girlfriend doesn’t complete me. But she’s there for me when I need it and we make each other better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listening to her makes Gerard’s heart ache. Despite it all, he still wants his own version of that. “I think I really needed to hear that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey smiles warmly. “You busy this weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shakes his head, because duh. Of course he isn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should come over,” she says. “We can paint or something. It’ll be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can overthink it, Gerard says, “Okay, sure,” and gives Lindsey his number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That weekend, Gerard goes over to Lindsey’s house. They sit at her kitchen table and watercolor on big pieces of paper on top of newspaper pages while a radio station plucked straight from the eighties plays quietly in the background. Lindsey’s working on a landscape that looks like a blood red ocean and Gerard’s trying to create a haunted mansion that isn’t cliche. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so peaceful. It’s the polar opposite of how Gerard has spent all his other weekends since January. He misses that energy sometimes, the electrifying pulse and frantic immediacy of it all, but he needs room in his life for this, too. The ease of it feels like his first deep breath in days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard finds out that Lindsey’s also going to be in New York City for art at Pratt. When he tells her about SVA, she smiles big and genuine and says they’ll have to find the quickest route between the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talk about art and music and Lindsey’s girlfriend, who is a year older and apparently also moving to the city soon. They don’t talk about Frank. Gerard doesn’t offer and Lindsey doesn’t pry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gerard leaves, he’s surprised to find himself calm. He’s not running from anything, or holding on so tight that his knuckles turn white. He’s just existing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey brings Alicia home the next weekend. He tries to not make a big deal about it, but Gerard can tell he’s nervous. Really nervous. Like, ‘convinces their mom to get takeout instead of trying to cook’ and ‘makes Gerard put on clean pants’ nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of which, Gerard supposes, are valid concerns. Their mother is not famed for her cooking. Nor is Gerard for his hygiene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alicia, though, sits at the Ways’ dinner table like she’s been there her whole life. Gerard can see Mikey’s anxious energy melt away as Alicia compliments their mom’s cooking — Gerard reckons she knows it’s takeout from the Italian place down the road, so she gets extra points for pretending — and asks about the collectible dolls on their mantle like they’re a totally normal interior decorating choice. She’s polite with their mom but has enough of a sarcastic edge with Mikey that Gerard understands why he likes her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey told me you’re going to art school next year. What kinda stuff do you think you’ll end up doing?” Alicia suddenly addresses Gerard. Gerard almost chokes on a sauteed mushroom; normally new people don’t put in the effort to engage with him, since he pretty much never talks first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, I’m really into comics, so I’ll probably end up doing some sort of illustration.” Gerard wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “I want to tell stories, mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikey’s been making me read all his favorite comics.” Alicia sends Mikey a fond little smile, so it can’t be that much of a chore. “They’re really good. I get why you’d want to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He gets his good taste from me,” Gerard says slyly. Mikey kicks his foot under the table, but Alicia’s laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, Mikey and Alicia sit on the back porch together as the sun goes down. Gerard gives them their space. He goes to help their mom with the dishes, getting his hands sudsy as he scrubs drying marinara sauce off of plates. It’s routine, so he doesn’t have to think too much, which is good. He feels normal, in relative terms. Around his family, it’s easier to pretend things never changed. It’s easier to be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The serenity evaporates when he looks out the kitchen window and sees Frank standing in his driveway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s mom catches him staring out the window and looks over his shoulder. “Who’s he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who’s Frank? Gerard wouldn’t even know where to fucking start. “Just a friend,” he mutters, because any other answer would open the door on a whole slew of questions he isn’t ready for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, are you going to go say hi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Gerard snaps automatically, then catches his tone. “I mean, he’s probably here for Mikey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom tuts. “Doesn’t he know Mikey’s on a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently not.” Not that Frank gives a fuck about other people’s lives and boundaries anyway. Gerard finishes with the dishes and marches down to the basement to find his phone and take care of shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Extracting it from the wrinkles of his comforter, he sees that Frank’s already texted him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>im outside</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You need to go home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard hits the keys much harder than necessary. This is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>absurd.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If Frank thinks that standing outside Gerard’s house is all it takes to make Gerard throw away his self-respect again, he’s dead wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t even count to three before his phone rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m outside,” says Frank. Yeah, no shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got that.” Gerard aims for unaffected, for completely-over-it. “I’m not coming out. Go home, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just need to talk, Gee. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard is glad he can’t see Frank from the basement, because his tone alone makes Gerard feel like a fist is squeezing his heart. “Don’t call me that,” he gets out. The wound had just started to scab over, and here Frank is, standing in his driveway plunging the knife right back in. He doesn’t get to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. Gerard is so sick of being powerless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fucked up,” Frank says hurriedly, like he’s afraid Gerard is going to hang up on him. Which, maybe. “I fucked everything up. But I want to fix it, we just need to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you know what?” Gerard raises his voice and cuts Frank off. His whole body is tense, wound up like he’s about to pop. “You want to fix it? Stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>pushing</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. When I say go home, </span>
  <em>
    <span>go the fuck home.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I don’t care about fixing your guilty conscience. You hurt me. Don’t fucking show up and remind me of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard braces himself for the pushback, because in no world does Frank give up that easy, but he’s silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wondering if he’s been hung up on, Gerard is just about to end the call when Frank says, “Okay. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line goes dead. Gerard pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it, wondering what the fuck just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he goes back to the kitchen window, Frank is gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s stomach churns. He doesn’t know what to make of any of that interaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Frank said </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the very end. It sounded like he was giving up on them. Like he was really done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should be good news, but Gerard spends half the night staring at his ceiling, unable to get to sleep. When he finally does, he dreams of black holes and falling into them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard expects a call or a text, something frantic in the middle of the night while Frank’s baked out of his mind, but nothing comes. He gets a few texts from Ray and one from Pete and Gabe. He can’t bring himself to open them; they’re probably all just defending Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Frank in the flesh had completely derailed any progress Gerard was making on forgetting his existence. When Gerard shows up to art class with dark bags under his eyes and his hair even more unkempt than usual, Lindsey gives him a knowing look and draws dancing skeletons for him until he smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s trying so hard to redirect his thoughts anytime they stray to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that when he walks out of class and sees a note on his car, it’s like a slap in the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An orange sticky note clings to the hood of his car, and taped to it is a Smashing Pumpkins pin with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mellon Collie</span>
  </em>
  <span> album art on it. In scrawling handwriting, the note says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>i know you don’t want to see me, but i found this and you need to have it</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no signature. There doesn’t need to be. It couldn’t have been there for long; the adhesive wouldn’t hold out against the wind forever. But when Gerard darts his gaze around the parking lot, Frank is nowhere to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard buries the pin under a pile of dirty clothes when he gets home. It would look great on his jacket, which he’s pretty sure Frank knows, but he doesn’t want to look at it. He should just throw it away, really, and be done with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know why he can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not wanting to contemplate it, Gerard is ready to just file away the incident and move on, but another orange note lands on his car the next afternoon. A plastic-wrapped kneaded eraser is attached. </span>
  <em>
    <span>you use these, right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day: the newest issue of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watchmen.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s tucked behind his windshield wiper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry, i skimmed. no spoilers, but it’s awesome</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The day after that: a Blur CD, also snug against the windshield. </span>
  <em>
    <span>i hope you don’t have this one already</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gerard explodes at home. “I don’t need any of this shit. Why isn’t he in class, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey picks up the kneaded eraser and squints at it. “Don’t you use these, like, all the time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point.” Gerard grabs the eraser from him. Okay, it’s useful, but that does not negate the fact that it came from Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flipping through the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watchmen</span>
  </em>
  <span> issue, Mikey asks, “Can I borrow this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care.” Gerard sets down his pencil on the bed to wave his hand around. “I don’t care about any of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know he’s trying, Gee, right?” Mikey doesn’t look up from the comic. He flips the page slowly; he likes to make the illustrations bleed into one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said.” Gerard sets his jaw. “I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Mikey says. “I’m just pretty sure that this is more than he’s done for anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard stiffens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly what it sounds like.” Mikey shrugs. “He was an asshole, yeah, and I’m glad you didn’t let that shit slide.” That they can agree on. “Still. You sometimes have a tendency to forget that other people have problems too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey raises an eyebrow at him. “All I’m saying is, sometimes there are reasons why people act shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, so I’m supposed to crawl back to him, since he decided to leave trinkets on my car?” Gerard rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t say that.” Another page flip. “Maybe you should just hear him out. Then we can decide whether or not to shave his head in his sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard scoffs. “Like you’d ever do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would,” Mikey says. “For you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard is antsy for all of art class. He sits there watching the clock and jiggling his leg under the table, idly making conversation with Lindsey to distract himself. She deserves more of his attention, but he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus </span>
  </em>
  <span>— there are thirty-five minutes until class is over, meaning about ten minutes until Gerard should pretend to be sick and sneak out to the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time passes like molasses. When Gerard finally stands up, Lindsey quirks an eyebrow at him. He says, “Remember how I told you Frank’s been leaving notes on my car all week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey nods, and he can see the puzzle pieces click together for her. “Oh, shit. Is he there now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blows out a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re ready to see him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard lets the question rattle around in his mind. After what Mikey said, his thoughts had spiraled. He’d already tried to move on without closure, and it didn’t work; he knows he needs answers. He just hopes he can keep himself together long enough to get them. “I guess I’ll find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes his voice weak and tells Mrs. Cline that his stomach hurts, and she dismisses him to the nurse without any follow-up questions. He turns left to keep up appearances but loops back around and shoulders open the double-doors that lead outside. Across the courtyard, he walks slowly to not attract suspicion, but once he’s in the parking lot, he picks up the pace and moves between cars until he gets to the back corner where he likes to park. He stops several paces away from his own Subaru and peers out from behind a VW Beetle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one is there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sighs, silently chiding himself. Maybe Frank had been here earlier, maybe he wasn’t coming at all. This could be a sign that Gerard is finally supposed to let things go, Mikey’s advice be damned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, a familiar car creeps into view. It’s Pete’s. Out steps Frank in jeans and a hoodie, hunched over on himself. But he’s still as beautiful as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s heart beats into his throat. He needs to go say something. He can’t just sit here and watch his last opportunity to tie up messy ends slip away. Part of him still thinks this is stupid, that it’ll only make things a hundred times worse, but he can’t shake the feeling that it's necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard steps out and walks towards Frank, who’s bent over the hood of Gerard’s car scribbling a note. “Hey.” Gerard’s mouth dries up as he realizes he has no idea what to say next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter. He gets Frank’s attention. Frank whips around, and his eyes go as big as saucers at the sight of Gerard. He stammers out, “Uh,” and makes what looks like an attempt to fold in on himself and disappear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, I know you didn’t want to see me.” Frank won’t meet his gaze. It's suddenly clear that even though he's been doing this all week, it was never his intention to get caught. “I’m sorry. I know. I was trying to respect your boundaries, but I couldn’t just do nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re about a foot apart, and it’s both an inch and a chasm. Gerard leans to see what Frank’s brought with him this time. Frank notices and tries to hide the item behind his back, but he’s too late. “What the hell is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Hesitantly, Frank holds out a red rose and a bundle of baby’s breath wrapped together with a wire. “It’s a boutonniere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A boutonniere,” repeats Frank, like that’s helpful. “One of those. . .you put it on the lapel of your suit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard just blinks at him. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank hides the boutonniere behind his back again and bites his lip. “Can we get to that? I was sort of hoping — I need to apologize first. If you’ll let me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curiosity wins out. Gerard nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, relieved smile unfolds on Frank’s face. It makes Gerard’s pulse skip unexpectedly, and he has to scold himself. He hadn’t realized how much he'd missed the rush of making Frank happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was really fucked up. Am fucked up. I don’t know.” Frank scratches the side of his face and looks down. “Fuck, I don’t know how to start this. Okay, um. A girl tried to hook up with me a couple weeks ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard recoils automatically; he doesn’t fucking want to hear about that. Before he can turn on his heel, though, Frank waves a hand and says, “No! No, not like that. I mean, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that, but I turned her down. I didn’t even know why I did. I just felt like — I shouldn’t. I couldn’t. And it wasn’t until I sobered up that I realized it was because of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Gerard echoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Frank nods. “Because I didn’t want anyone but you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Gerard can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his knees, it’s so strong, but he forces himself to focus. “Frank, if you think. . .” He trails off. He’s not sure how that sentence ends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. Just listen.” Frank reaches out like he’s going to, Gerard doesn’t know, grab his hand or something. Before they can connect, though, Frank catches himself and shoves his hand in his pocket. “I treated you so badly. I’m sorry. I liked you so much, but it was like I didn’t know what to do with it. I was so scared you were going to get bored of me if I wasn’t exciting all the time, so I acted like a fucking idiot and screwed it all up anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” Gerard demands. “What do you mean, I’d get bored of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normally, uh.” Frank swallows visibly. “Normally people don’t like me that much once the adrenaline wears off, if you know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But.” That doesn’t make any sense to Gerard. “All those girls?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you see those girls stick around afterward? Do I ever bring anyone over to the apartment?” Frank smiles wryly.  “I’m not good for anything else. I thought, like, if we took things slow, you’d lose interest in me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can’t fucking believe his ears. “I thought you were just using me for sex.” His voice comes out rougher than anticipated. “You acted like you didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. You picked up a girl’s number five minutes before you landed on top of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Frank flushes. “That was so stupid of me. I — shit. I know I shouldn’t have treated you that way, but that’s why I did it. I’m sorry. I regret it so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you thought acting committed would bore me,” Gerard says, shaking his head, “you don’t know me at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I want to,” Frank says quickly. “I know I don’t deserve to, but I want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like the air’s been knocked out of Gerard’s lungs. He got his explanation, but this is nothing like closure. Frank sounds so anguished Gerard bets he would get down on his knees and beg right now if he asked him to, but Gerard’s sick of that. He doesn’t want them to suffer anymore. He just wants things to be okay. Truthfully, holding so much anger and resentment inside of himself has been exhausting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like I’m totally innocent in this, either,” Gerard admits at last. “I was just as fucked up. I was trying to use you to fix myself. But the whole time, I never stopped to think that you could have problems, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never let you.” Frank’s face is so open it almost hurts to look at it. “We never let each other in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard knows. He always knew. “It was so hard to trust you when it felt like you were always using me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Frank says. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” Gerard sucks in a breath. His head is spinning. It takes everything in him to open his mouth, but he has to know; if this is just returning to friendship, he might be able to handle it, but the adjustment wouldn’t be easy. “Earlier, you said you liked me. As in, past tense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Frank shakes his head vehemently. “Not past tense.” He reveals the flower-thing from earlier. “I brought this here so I could ask you to prom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Gerard’s brain stalls. All he can string together is, “You were going to ask me to prom on a sticky note?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t have a lot of options!” Frank throws up his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a pesky detail dampens the hope bubbling up in Gerard. He very carefully keeps his tone neutral. “Aren’t you not allowed to bring outside people to prom, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you aren’t.” That fact doesn’t seem to worry Frank, though. Oh, god, what does he have planned? Gerard cannot handle sneaking around places anymore. “Um, a couple weeks ago, everyone at the apartment decided that rule was bullshit. It wouldn’t be any fun if we weren’t together, so we decided to get dressed up and do our own thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Gerard hadn’t really planned on going to prom, since standing in the corner and watching pent-up teenagers bust down to Fergie was not on the top of his to-do list, but their own prom? That’s interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Gerard has to admit to himself, the cutest guy in the world is asking. “When is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank grimaces. “Tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tomorrow?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, your prom is next Saturday, and Ray and I’s was last Saturday, so. . .” Frank shrugs. “What, do you need to get your hair and nails done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard knows it’s supposed to be funny, but it sounds so much like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frank,</span>
  </em>
  <span> normal Frank, that it puts a lump in Gerard’s throat instead. Frank must notice his expression. “Hey, you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I just. . .” Gerard doesn’t have the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you actually do, no judgment,” Frank says hurriedly, bouncing on his toes. “I’m sure you’d look great. Like, gorgeous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard tries to get his thoughts in order. “Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s sober tone makes Frank still. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want from this? Be honest.” Gerard steels himself for the answer even as he tastes his heart in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank pauses. When he speaks, it sounds like the truth. “I want to be with you. I want to treat you right. I’m sorry I was too scared to do that the first time, but I miss you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>misses you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we’re doing this,” Gerard says, “it has to be real. I can’t do anything else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank steps forward and takes Gerard’s hands, pressing the boutonniere into his left palm. “I don’t want anything else. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there for a long moment, but Frank doesn’t try to make a move on him. His gaze doesn’t even flick down to Gerard’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s how Gerard knows. They can be better, they just have to let themselves try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring into Frank’s eyes, an idea strikes Gerard. “Hey, is there any extra room at our prom? I think I know someone who would want to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard has to dig into the depths of his closet to find the suit he wore to Elena’s funeral. At first, the idea of wearing it again seems morose and disrespectful, but once he mulls it over, he realizes that she’d be happy for him — he has friends who want him around and a very handsome date. Yeah, Elena would be proud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elena would also understand how difficult it is to find a suit on one day’s notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard shakes out the suit and puts it on. Well-dressed and with clean hair, he barely recognizes himself in the mirror. He turns to catch his reflection at a few different angles. In a tailored suit, the lines and curves of him are obvious. He isn’t sure how to feel about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a distraction, he finally unwraps the eyeliner Pete gave him what feels like a century ago and lightly rings his eyes. The last thing he does before walking upstairs is attach Frank’s boutonniere to his lapel, right next to the Smashing Pumpkins pin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the living room, Gerard’s mom is herding Mikey and Alicia towards the least cluttered wall to take their photo. Alicia looks stunning in a floor-length black dress, and Gerard can tell Mikey made an effort, even with his bored expression and askew tie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god. Here, let me.” Alicia reaches over to fix Mikey’s tie. Mikey kisses the top of her head. “Can’t take you anywhere.” She tuts, then leans into Mikey’s side to pose for the camera.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole display makes Gerard wish he was with Frank already. But on another level, their newly reconciled relationship feels so delicate and unexpected that Gerard is grateful for the extra time to collect himself. He wipes his palms on his pants; he’s never been so nervous to face Frank. Not to mention all the other friends he’s been avoiding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what’s supposed to happen tonight?” Gerard asks Mikey as they walk out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna ask the same thing.” Alicia has one hand intertwined with Mikey’s and the other hiking up her dress as they trek through the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mikey says, “It’s Pete and Gabe’s place, dude. Who knows.” Yeah, fair enough. He opens the back door of Gerard’s car for Alicia, who ducks inside, before walking around and getting in himself. The empty seat next to Gerard is screamingly obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive to Frank’s house is both treacherously long and terribly short. Gerard puts the car in park once they arrive and tries to ground himself, about to get out and go knock on the front door, when Frank appears in one of the windows and waves. He’s bounding towards the car the next instant. The sight of him — cleaned up in a black suit with a red tie, hair tamed just enough with that damn curl teasing above his cheekbone — Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Frank says as he shuts the car door. His eyes are sparkling. “I like these.” He splays his fingers under the collection of items pinned to Gerard’s lapel, gently pressing just above where Gerard’s heart is beating doubletime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Gerard smiles bashfully and fails to hide his delight as Frank drops his hand to rest on top of Gerard’s on the gear shift. It’s weirdly reassuring that Frank is a little sweaty, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>drive,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mikey bitches from the backseat. Alicia shushes him and whispers something Gerard can’t make out. Gerard flips him off and backs out of the driveway, turning in the direction of Pete and Gabe’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents totally don’t understand what’s going on,” Frank says as he fiddles with the radio knobs. The third knob is broken, which Frank soon finds out as it falls off in his hand. “Oh, shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Gerard plucks the knob from Frank’s hand. “You didn’t do anything. It’s been busted for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, good.” Frank exhales audibly. “I mean, not good, obviously, but I’m just glad I wasn’t breaking your car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without looking, Gerard pops the knob back on. “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” he says, giving Frank’s hand a light squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The obvious problem concerning Pete and Gabe’s apartment does not occur to Gerard until Frank’s already knocked on their door. The door swings open to reveal a smiling and suited Pete, and Gerard blurts out, “How the hell are we all going to fit in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we’re not.” Gabe’s head pops into view. He’s grinning ear to ear. “Come in for a sec, though, we need help carrying shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard steps inside and is immediately confronted with the worst fashion decision he’s ever witnessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude.” Frank’s mouth hangs open in awe as he also stares at Gabe. “What are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>wearing?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabe says staunchly, smoothing down the jacket of his godawful powder blue suit that must have been plucked straight from the seventies. The dress shirt underneath it has </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruffles.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It burns his eyes, but Gerard can’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Alicia is staring. “Wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe crosses his arms and glares daggers at them. “I didn’t go to my prom, okay? This was all the thrift store had in my size.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miracles are real,” says Mikey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and come carry the punch bowl,” Gabe grumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone starts loading up, but before Gerard can grab anything, Pete barricades him and puts his hands on Gerard’s shoulders. He looks at Gerard seriously. “We missed you. Try not to flake on us again. But I’m glad it worked out, I was rooting for you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. So, yeah, Pete knows. And if Pete knows, Gabe must know. At least there’s something sweet about his stare-into-your-soul intensity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice eyeliner,” Pete notes before letting Gerard go. Gerard turns just in time to catch Mikey walking out the door with a two-liter of Hawaiian Punch and a handle of Tito’s. Frank is right behind him with a large salad bowl. That’s definitely not going to end well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are they headed?” Gerard asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the basement.” Pete gathers the apartment’s shitty little stereo into his arms. Gerard blinks as he tries to understand; he’s been away from this chaos for too long, his brain’s still adjusting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The basement?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Gabe rented the space from our landlord super cheap a few weeks ago. Midtown needed a new place to practice since Tyler’s mom kicked them out of her garage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe comes over and stacks two six packs in Gerard’s arms. “It’s soundproof, and no one would think to come down and look for underage heathens like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re underage, too,” Gerard points out as Gabe collects bags of chips against his chest. God, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>suit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s still so funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missed you, dude.” Gabe tops off the non-sequitur by ruffling Gerard’s hair on his way out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard would like to think that he is a bit of an expert on basements, having spent most of his time roosting in his own until a few months ago, so he’s confident in his opinion that the apartment’s basement is actually a decent venue. It’s not too cold and it doesn’t feel cramped, and the lighting is only spotty near the corners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, there’s a really tasteful multicolored banner taped to the furthest wall that declares “PROM!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray is already down there when they arrive, struggling with the folding table that Gerard recognizes as the one that normally holds up the TV. Huh. He hadn’t even noticed it was gone from the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ray’s got a girl with him. She’s pretty in a peach dress, smiling at them all amicably. Hearing them come in, Ray automatically says, “Guys, this is Christa,” before looking up. Then his eyes go wide. “Gerard!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Gerard barely has time to wave awkwardly before Ray’s got him wrapped in a hug. The velocity of it almost knocks Gerard off his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I texted! You never answered!” Ray exclaims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard winces. “I know, I’m sorry, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re here now.” Ray releases him. He turns around, and Gerard follows his gaze to see Christa giggling. Well, that’s probably the best reaction they could hope for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dancing back over to her, Ray introduces them all. Frank sidles back up to Gerard and rests his hand on the small of his back. The gesture makes Gerard feel lit up inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I made four mixed CDs with like a hundred songs total.” On the other side of the room, Gabe is poking at the stereo. “That’s, like, I don’t even know how many hours. So you kids better get drunk on Rolling Rock and dance your asses off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe hits play and “Hey Ya!” blasts out of the speakers. Frank looks at Gerard. “Beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard nods frantically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re halfway through “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” when Gerard’s phone buzzes with a text from Lindsey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh, am i in the right place?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, shit. Gerard completely forgot to send her the update; thank god he still has service down here. He sends back </span>
  <em>
    <span>One sec</span>
  </em>
  <span> before handing his spiked cup of Hawaiian Punch to Frank. “I’ll be right back, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” Frank’s eyebrows crease, and his fingers linger on Gerard’s hip, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s great.” Gerard leans forward on instinct and has to pull back awkwardly, which must have been totally obvious. He tries to make up for it by kissing the back of Frank’s hand, brushing his lips across the warm skin before rushing up the stairs to redirect poor Lindsey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds her leaning against the apartment door talking quietly with the brunette girl standing next to her. She looks striking in her suit, dark purple with a black dress shirt underneath, exaggerated like a comic book character.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Gerard is breathless from the climb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey’s eyes flick over to him and she smiles. “Hey, dude. Nice suit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same to you,” Gerard says. Lindsey loftily dusts off the shoulders of her jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Kara.” Lindsey’s girlfriend waves. She’s in a dress gaudy enough to rival Gabe, a hot pink strapless mini with black tulle coming out of the bottom. But paired with her combat boots, it somehow works — kind of like she’s in on the joke, and maybe that’s the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gerard.” He wiggles his fingers in a loose interpretation of a greeting before leading the way back downstairs. “Gabe and Pete’s place is tiny, so we’re in the basement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey shrugs. “Still better than the Belleville High gym.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Totally.” Gerard looks over his shoulder at Lindsey. She’s got her hand loosely intertwined with Kara’s, swinging them back and forth together as they walk. “So how’d you two meet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lindsey’s eyes glimmer. “I took a ceramics course at her college last summer. She showed me where to put my fingers, if you know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kara laughs obviously but tries to cover it with a disapproving gasp. “Babe! You can’t say that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was clearly talking about throwing on the wheel.” Lindsey feigns innocence, cutting Gerard a look. “Gerard’s going to art school, he gets it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard has to turn back around to hide his smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk back in on “Stacy’s Mom,” to which Gabe and Pete are slow dancing completely inappropriately. Inappropriately in the sense that they’re moving at about a fourth of the speed of the song, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the sense that Gabe’s got his hand on Pete’s ass. Gerard starts to do the rounds of introductions with Lindsey and Kara, but it turns out they don’t really need his help; Alicia’s already handing them beers and Christa’s complimenting Kara’s dress. They fit, no pushing required.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard feels Frank’s eyes on him from across the room, and the attention puts butterflies in his stomach. After checking in with Mikey, he wanders over in that direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So they made it,” says Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.” Gerard peers over the edge of the cup he left Frank with to find it empty. He lifts an eyebrow. “Go ahead and finish my drink, why don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was getting warm. I did you a favor.” But Frank’s guilty smile says otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Gerard grabs Frank’s free hand. He tugs a little, then pushes back towards Frank. Frank tilts his head but allows himself to be moved, humoring him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing?” Frank asks as Gerard guides him forward and back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dancing with you,” Gerard murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s eyes widen. God, he’s beautiful. “Oh,” he says, and puts down Gerard’s cup. He drapes his arms around Gerard’s neck — not really pulling on him, just resting. Gerard has to bite the inside of his cheek as his hands skate down to Frank’s waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move your feet, then.” Unexpectedly, Frank starts them in a little two-step, and Gerard almost trips. Frank laughs into the crook of Gerard’s neck, leaving goosebumps in his wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have any rhythm,” Gerard tries to justify.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nickelback is playing,” Frank points out. “We’re not following a rhythm. Just move with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, fair. Gerard tries to loosen up. They end up simply swaying together, Frank’s chin tucked against Gerard’s shoulder, their chests close enough it seems like their heartbeats are talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is this dancing?" Gerard asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter," says Frank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the only time Gerard’s enjoyed a Nickelback song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once all the booze is gone, the night devolves into a loose assemblage on the concrete floor, everyone chattering and leaning on each other. Pete and Gabe lazily kick a beer can back and forth. Gerard follows the match with his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, dude,” Ray starts from next to Gerard. He’s clearly a little buzzed, and his voice comes out louder than necessary. “What happened? Why’d you leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” The room goes quiet. The beer can rolls to a stop. Gerard looks to Frank, silently asking how the fuck he's supposed to answer that, but Frank just shrugs unhelpfully. Most of the people in the room already know about him and Frank, but the nuances of the situation have been a secret. It’s easier to explain a fucked up relationship than the inner workings of Gerard’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit, sorry. I don’t know why I asked that,” Ray backpedals, not that it resolves any of the tension in the room. Still, Gerard nearly sighs in relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his defenses go back up, though, it feels wrong. These are just about all of his favorite people in the world. He hasn’t known them that long, but they’ve shown him more kindness and acceptance than he thought possible in that time. Maybe he — shouldn’t lock them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay.” Gerard clears his throat and tells himself that this is normal, this is alright. People share. It’s healthy. “I just spent a lot of time being lonely in high school and feeling like I didn’t exist, and when I met you guys, I was still really dealing with that. Um.” He looks around, but no one makes a face or throws their shoe at him, so he continues. “I just — yeah. I am still dealing with that, I guess. I’m working on trusting people and myself. So sorry for like, disappearing, but I needed to figure that out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one says anything. Gerard looks at the ground and smiles wryly. “Sorry, that was totally TMI.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, hey.” Frank picks up Gerard’s hand and clutches it. “That was cool as fuck. You know what? Here, I’ll go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frank, you don’t have to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank shakes his head. “No, we’re doing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone looks at him. Gerard keeps a tight grip on his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank clears his throat. “So, I exist at my school, but only so homophobic assholes can give me shit for existing. Like, I got shoved into a locker once.” Frank laughs dryly. “They don’t even know shit, they just </span>
  <em>
    <span>assume.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I stopped showing up to some of my classes this year, and that pisses my parents off, but they don’t get it, since they're the ones who put me in there, like — it’s such a cycle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe points at him. “Dude, you need to play music. That’s the way out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank dismisses him. “I can’t do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not? You always fucking talk about it. Just grow some balls already," Gabe says. “Seriously. It’ll help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Frank says, but his eyes are smiling. “Okay, you have to go now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gabe looks around, but no one offers him an out. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re being emotionally vulnerable on prom night,” Pete says sagely. “Get with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe frowns at him. “Make Pete go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete waves a hand. “I’ll go next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe huffs. “Being an adult is hard. That’s my thing. Next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete smacks him on the arm. “Yeah, and?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violence is no way to promote emotional vulnerability, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t flirt with me, Gabriel.” They stare each other down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete must win, because Gabe says, “Okay, fine, you want the immigrant sob story? I’m broke. My band is a mess. But my dad gave up everything to get us here, and I can’t fuck that up, so I have to fix it. I know he loves me, obviously, all that shit, but I also need him to be proud.” Gabe rolls his eyes, his mouth taut and white. “Being all-in on Midtown, I know it seems stupid. But it’s what I have to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you guys have a CD?” Lindsey asks from across the circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe shakes his head. “Soon, probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I want to buy one when you do,” she says. Kara and Alicia nod in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe looks at them gratefully and lets out a shaky breath. “Peter,” he prompts. Gerard doesn’t miss the way Gabe sneaks his hand around to rest on Pete’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m obviously all sorts of fucked up,” Pete jokes, but it falls flat. He shares a look with Gabe. “Um, I’m on meds, I mean. For bipolar. I fucking hate how they make me feel, though. It’s like putting someone else in my head and letting them screw with my personality in exchange for like, wanting to stay alive.” Pete rubs a knuckle into his eye. “It’s fucked. It feels like no one else has to try, and I’m over here counting pills and refilling prescriptions every month just to keep up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m on meds, too,” says Alicia. Her head is tucked into Mikey’s shoulder, and she looks small. “Not to, like, undermine your thing.” She pauses, only continuing after Pete shakes his head to say that no, she isn’t. “Just regular antidepressants. They fuck with me the same way, but when I skip them, I’m miserable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get that,” says Pete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a beat of silence, Mikey deadpans, “I don’t know why you’re looking at me. I’m perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon.” Alicia pokes Mikey’s side, and he sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tend to absorb everyone else’s problems,” he says carefully, chancing a glance at Gerard. “I like to help, but I’m trying to get better about drawing the line, I guess. I’m no use to anyone if I’m overwhelmed by it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mikes.” Gerard wants to reach out, but Frank is in between them. “Shit, I didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” Mikey’s face is open, and Gerard can tell there’s no grudge. “Seriously. I want to be there. I’m just figuring it out.” He pushes his glasses up and breathes out. “Okay, yeah. Someone else go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared as fuck to move to New York,” Lindsey volunteers. Gerard can’t believe it’s just volleying like this, what the hell. “If art doesn’t work out, I don’t have a backup plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, same here.” Kara’s got her head in Lindsey’s lap, and Lindsey’s petting her hair. “I’ve been on my own for a year now and it’s, like — shit, it’s hard. But I know I won’t get anywhere by staying in Belleville, so I have to try, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least we can be broke and confused together.” Lindsey looks over at Gerard and lets out a short little laugh at the sorry lot of them. Together, though. That’s not nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to community college,” Ray says, wincing. “I didn’t — I haven’t told anyone that yet, because I was kind of ashamed, but. I need to stay close to my family. They still need me, and another two years in Belleville won’t kill me, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, just means you’re stuck with us longer.” Gabe waggles his eyebrows until Ray smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, I guess I’m last.” Christa looks around at all of them, squeezing Ray’s arm. “I don’t have a lot of friends, so I guess I was lonely, too. I’m glad I’m here tonight, though. I like you guys a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you,” Ray says, but not in a mean way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did.” Christa smiles up at him. “One question, though. Are you all always this fucking cliche?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole room laughs, like a communal exhale. Gerard is half-expecting someone to get up and loudly proclaim that they need more booze or a well-packed bowl, but no one moves. No one tries to avoid what just happened. They just sit in it, together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, it really is cliche.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a fucking relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor of the apartment is colder and much less comfortable than the couch, but Gerard’s got a blanket to burrito in and Frank within arm’s reach, so he’s not going to complain. Everyone else around them is asleep, Gerard is pretty sure, but he can tell Frank is still up by the way he’s tracing circles on Gerard’s hip. The warmth of his hand is intoxicating, even through the fabric of the sweatpants Gerard retrieved from his car earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was so much better than a Catholic school prom,” Frank says quietly, breath hitting Gerard’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerard whispers back. “What do you guys even do at one of those? Does the DJ play hymns and recite Bible verses all night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.” Frank uses the hand on Gerard’s hip to pinch him lightly. Gerard squirms but doesn't relent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they only serve communion wafers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank rolls his eyes. “You know that they don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you even have prom royalty, or do they just crown a new Jesus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one makes Frank snort. Score. A few beats pass while they grin at each other and Gerard wracks his mind for more Catholic school jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Frank murmurs, “That was incredible, by the way. What you did back there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, in the basement?” Gerard asks. Frank nods. “That wasn’t me.” He isn’t trying to defend his modesty or anything. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> just him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had the guts to start it,” Frank says, wrapping his fingers around Gerard’s hip. “We needed that. It’s scary, how you can know people for so long and never find out the most important things about them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being open is hard.” Gerard would know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank wriggles closer. “You make it easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard can only make out faint grey outlines of Frank’s face. The shadowed planes hiding from sight remind Gerard of the covered moon. But Frank may as well have galaxies on his skin, Gerard thinks he looks so pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” he whispers. Frank meets him halfway for the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s hand clutches Frank’s side instinctually, like muscle memory, and Frank’s body moves back the same way. Their legs intertwine as they pull each other closer. Frank groans softly into Gerard’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Frank stills. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we — can we not?” he mumbles. “I think I just want this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” Gerard admits on an exhale, feeling weight fall off his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flutter closed again as Frank leans in to kiss him gently. Not gentle in the way people treat breakable things, but gentle in the way people treat precious things. The kind of care required to keep something in good shape for a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the first time Gerard falls asleep with Frank in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard sits on the edge of his dorm bed and catalogs the few remaining boxes he needs to unpack. Everyone had helped him load up back in Belleville and Mikey had been here with their mom to get the basics in place, but there were a few things Gerard thought it would be better to deal with himself, like the essential comics and his art supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally being at SVA is different than Gerard expected. A year ago, he assumed he’d be overjoyed in this moment, pumping his fists and gloating about how he finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>got out.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But then leaving Belleville turned into less of an escape and more of an actual goodbye. He still knows that this is where he’s supposed to be, but it’s less ecstasy and more of a subtle, warm feeling in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens up the box shared by his comics and DVDs and starts to organize them by importance of their narrative, which requires a lot of tough calls, since the collections are already down to their bare bones. As he flips through his copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avengers</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watchmen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to decide how they rank against each other, an orange slip of paper falls out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Belatedly, he realizes that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Watchmen</span>
  </em>
  <span> issue in his hands is the one that Frank gave him months ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i love you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> says the note in Frank’s chicken scratch. It’s barely a sentence, barely anything, but hidden in those pages, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gerard has to blink rapidly and swipe at his face before he gets the paper wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s his second speed dial option, only after Mikey. “I love you too,” Gerard blurts out as soon as the line connects, and he hears Frank’s delighted giggle on the other end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t I even get a hello?” says Frank, voice like sunshine, or something else as stupidly wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Gerard’s laugh sounds watery, but whatever. “Okay, hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you already, this is so dumb.” Frank pauses. “Can I come stow away in your dorm and be your artistic muse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard considers. “My roommate hasn’t shown up yet, so maybe. I’ll keep you posted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, cool.” Frank’s voice gets lower. “Imagine everything we could get up to as roommates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.” Gerard plays along. “I could get you to go to bed at a decent hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I could make you shower more than once a week,” Frank shoots back. “Also, decent hour? Hypocrite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I deserve that.” Gerard smiles to himself. “Hey, you’re still coming up next weekend, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank hums. “Unless the headliner kicks Pencey off the bill, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard scoffs. “Gabe wouldn’t do that to you. He’s just going to be grateful to finally play a gig outside of Jersey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Frank says. God, Frank up on stage. What a sight that’s going to be. “One week until we’re all together again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One week,” Gerard repeats. “Stay the night in my dorm, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, duh.” Frank snorts like that was already decided. Fucker. “How lucky are you, getting to take the lead singer home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So lucky,” Gerard says, one hundred percent genuine. “I’m gonna do wicked things to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And put him to bed at a decent hour,” Frank reminds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Gerard shakes his head. He can’t wait until they’re in the same place again and he can just kiss Frank whenever he says something moronic. “I’ve got to go meet Lindsey and Kara for coffee, but I’ll text you later, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell them I said hi,” Frank says warmly. “Love you. Be safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too.” After they hang up, Gerard grins at his phone like an idiot for a minute before forcing himself out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meets Lindsey and Kara a few blocks away. Lindsey presses an iced coffee into his hand before he can even greet them, so he skips the formalities entirely, just engulfing them both in a hug. “This is weird, right? Us in New York?” he says after they separate, sipping through his straw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So weird,” Lindsey says, grinning ear to ear. She’s already holding Kara’s hand, but she grabs Gerard’s too, pulling them along. “Good weird. Come on, let’s go do tourist shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One week, then the entire future ahead of them. Gerard can’t wait.</span>
</p>
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